Full Disclosure
by Ms.GrahamCracker
Summary: Don's cursory tale of his and Charlie's survival after a helicopter crash in the wildnerness leaves a frustrated Alan to piece together the truth on his own.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: There is no infringement intended. I claim no ownership of anything other than the storyline and all original characters. CBS stills gets all the money involved with anything to do with Numb3rs. This disclaimer applies to all chapters of this story.**

**There are no warnings.**

**Spoilers for "Backscatter", "Breaking Point", "Fifth Man" and the quote at the beginning from "Guns and Roses".**

**A/Ns: All named organizations, state parks and forests, California cities, (except L.A., of course), and Carrigan Memorial Hospital are fictional and were created solely for this story. They are not meant to resemble or represent any true or real establishments and this author humbly apologizes for any implied representation.**

**Takes place somewhere between seasons three and mid-season six.**

**Throughout the story, both Don's previously spoken words and Alan's thoughts are italicized. Don's words, however, are set apart with quotations marks.**

**Please read the A/N at the end of this chapter. You can read it before or after you read the chapter – it doesn't matter – it's completely up to you.**

**This first chapter is a little longer than the others. There are seven in all. Please enjoy.**

**Summary: Don's cursory tale of his and Charlie's survival after a helicopter crash in the wilderness leaves a frustrated Alan to piece together the truth on his own.**

**Full Disclosure**

**~by MsGrahamCracker~**

_**Don; "I mean, I...I tell you stuff, but you don't know the half of it, trust me."**_

_**Alan; "How come I don't find that comforting?" 2.20 "Guns and Roses"**_

_**- Chapter one -**_

Carrigan Memorial Hospital sat nestled within a lush grove of Western Sycamore trees, just a mile north of the town it was named for. Both the city and hospital, named after founders Edward and Madge Carrigan, sat serenely at the southwestern edge of scenic Black Rock State Park, a protected area with over five hundred thousand acres of untamed wilderness. The medical facility was small compared to the giant edifices that served the ill and injured just five hours away in Los Angeles. Despite it's size – just 15 beds and a staff of less than 70 - the hospital boasted a top notch emergency/trauma unit that rivaled UCLA in relationship to specific injuries. The doctors and nurses at Carrigan excelled in treating the head injuries and broken bones of seasonal visitors to the park: the spring and summer water rafters who braved the Rufus Rapids, or the hikers who trekked along Rivergrove Pass, or the skiers who challenged the slopes of Mt. Kripke.

The hospital did have one thing in common, though, with the larger facilities, and if truth be told, it had the same thing in common with countless hospitals across the country; color scheme. As Alan Eppes stepped into one of Carrigan's hallways, quietly closing the door behind him, he silently cursed the repetition of the nauseating green tile that covered the lower section of the walls along the hallway as far as he could see.

As an architect himself, Alan realized the soft green was supposed to induce soothing, calm feelings - often a commodity in short supply in a hospital - but, he was tired of it. Actually, he was tired of pretty much everything. Standing in the pristine hallway, he gazed around. The hallway he stood in had patient rooms on one side and several small waiting areas on the other. It was bisected by the nurses station, where another hallway of patient rooms and the elevator bay fanned out. Each hallway, every doorway, the raised barrier around the nurse's station, the elevator doors – everything in his sight – was green and white. At another time, he might have suggested a contrasting shade, one with more life in it, but the last few days had drained him and he found himself reluctantly agreeing with the unknown decorator. Seriously, he thought, what other color would be appropriate; certainly not red – it was too bold and discordant, and, Alan swallowed, it too closely resembled the blood that continued to seep through the bandage on Charlie's forehead. And, yellow wouldn't work – it was too bright, too sunny for the suffering that went on behind these doors – and yet, a watered down version of it was similar to the pus that constantly oozed out of the infected puncture wounds in Don's ankle. There was blue, Alan guessed – numerous shades to choose from, from soft robin egg blue to a deep indigo – but he shuddered at the image of both of his sons with countless, immeasurable dark blue bruises that seemed to cover them from head to foot, a constant and painful reminder of why they were there.

Don had been asked by a college friend, Michael Adams, who was now a board member of the state forestry service, to check into the recent heavy concentration of poaching in the state park. Don and Colby Granger had arrived nearly a week ago and had been following several promising leads. The state had also asked Charlie to calculate the damage done to the forest's delicate eco system by the loss of an uneven number of both predators and prey.

Despite the continuing and tireless efforts of PETA and other animal rights groups, fur and animal hides were still a large commodity, both in overseas and domestic fashion circles, and by the large numbers of animals this group of poachers were suspected of taking, they were making a killing in more ways than one. The poachers were ruthless; from two separate base camps on opposite sides of the government land, they were taking the animals any way they could – hunting rifles, crossbows and various types of traps, from the smaller spring loaders for fox and raccoon to the larger leg hold traps with pointed teeth for bear. When Don and Colby made significant progress in the investigation, the criminals closed down the operation and set fire to both camps, destroying the evidence.

In comparison to other cases, other felons his sons have hunted, this one had seemed tame enough, although in retrospect, Alan knew one should never judge how desperate a criminal could be, how willing they were to cross the line from just someone who breaks the law to someone who would kill the officers or agents sent to bring them in. Alan sighed with relief, knowing all the poachers had been arrested, and even though Don had told him there had been a few shots fired, no one had been injured during the arrest.

With his right hand still on the door knob, Alan stood a moment, beyond weary, and moved his left hand up to the back of his neck, slowly massaging the tense, stiff muscles there. He thought ruefully of Meg, the pretty young nurse who suggested he return to the motel for a good night's sleep. Instead of taking her sage advise, he had opted for a nap, once again, in the green! vinyl chair beside Charlie's bed. He admitted to himself, and _only_ to himself, that he was too old for his body to rest completely in an upright position.

Both Don and Charlie were sleeping now, helped along by the pain killers and antibiotics they had been receiving for two days now and Alan decided he needed a break from the small hospital room, with it's relentless, beeping reminders of his sons' mortality. Since receiving the call from Colby Granger four days ago telling him both of his sons and a young pilot were missing after a helicopter crash in the middle of a wildfire zone in the dense wilderness of Black Rock, he had been on an emotional roller coaster ride from hell.

Alan knew the young man who had piloted the helicopter, Dean Hunter, was also occupying a room on this floor, just a few doors past the nurses station, and he had been meaning to stop in and see how he was doing. He just hadn't been able to find the time, yet. At first, he admitted, he just couldn't bring himself to leave his sons' room. The first day he literally spent hours just watching them sleep. As they began to recover and spend more time awake and uncomfortable, he found himself occupied in other ways.

Charlie was scheduled for traction several times a day for his neck injury and was finding it hard to remain still that long. It often took Alan and Don both to distract him long enough to allow the procedure to be effective. Then, last night, Don was given a pair of crutches and encouraged to use them for short trips to the bathroom. Still a little weak and unsteady, he had quietly accepted Alan's help.

Simply put, his sons needed him; so he had stayed there, in the room with them, reading, talking, fluffing, playing referee, soothing – loving.

Through the night, as is often the case, Don's fever had spiked again and he had been restless and unable to sleep. With Charlie snoring soundly nearby, Alan had finally asked Don for details – what exactly had happened. Don had given his statement to the Black Rock authorities and to David Sinclair, who, along with Colby Granger had been part of the joint team that had eventually rescued them, but that had been done in private and Alan hadn't pushed Don for information.

"_We found signs right away, Dad, that confirmed Mike's belief that the poaching was being done by a highly organized unit. We got a lead on how they were transporting the animals out of state and I sent Colby to run that down while I took Chuck out to do his number thing. He was running some equations on the projected eco effect when I stepped in that damn bear trap. I figured I could make it back on my own, you know, just wrap it up tight to stop the bleeding, maybe a little help from Charlie or a walking stick, but he insisted on calling for help."_

Alan had held his breath as Don told him how the rescue helicopter had crashed and their subsequent fight for survival as the three of them made their way out of the forest, chased by both a raging fire and desperate poachers.

"_Dean knew the trails, he got us through. We wouldn't have made it without him, Dad."_

Rubbing his neck again, Alan sighed and told himself before he returned to his sons' room he would slip down the hall and see how the young man was doing.

Arching his back to stretch out the kinks that seemed to have taken up a permanent residency in his spine, he turned down the hall and headed for the elevator. The hospital cafeteria had passable food, but he had found their coffee outstanding; a special blend from the cooks' father, who owned and operated the popular Harvell Roadhouse, north of town. The coffee was strong without being bitter and he was told it had a secret ingredient that attracted an eclectic group of travelers and locals to the roadhouse.

As he approached the public elevators that would take him down a level to the cafeteria, he noticed a woman standing in front of them. She was arching her back as he had done, her small hands splayed across her lower spine. Instantly, he sympathized with her, knowing her aches were not due to age and a foolish sleeping position, but to her advanced pregnancy.

She was a petite woman, despite the basketball size bulge riding high in her abdomen. Her wavy, shoulder length brown hair was pulled back on both sides and clipped at the back of her head in a loose, careless containment that said she didn't have time to do much else with it that morning. She was dressed in a well-worn, navy maternity outfit with an over-sized tan sweater, whose front zipper almost met over her stomach. He remembered his late wife, Margaret, carrying their two sons and mentally comparing the memory with the young woman in front of him, he judged her to be between seven and a half to eight months along.

Without knowing exactly how, he knew without a doubt that she was the pilot's wife. He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her. "Mrs. Hunter?"

She turned to him, smiling instantly, as though he were an old friend. Her hazel eyes appeared tired and her face drawn and lined with fatigue, but she thrust her hand forward warmly and said, "Please, call be Ruby. You're Mr. Eppes, aren't you?" Alan managed a quick nod before she said quickly "I've been meaning to come by and see you and your sons, but Dean's been awake more today and I've tried to spend some time with him. I should be at home," she rushed on. "Bobby has a cold and so far Momma's been able to handle things, but God help us all if Lilith comes down with it. I love that girl dearly, but when she doesn't feel good she can be the devil incarnate, a holy terror, ya know, and I don't think Momma will be able to handle both of them. I'm afraid I ..."

Alan knew if he wanted to be part of this conversation he would have to just jump in. "Bobby and Lilith – your children?"

Slightly mollified, Roby took a calming breath and nodded. "Bobby's five and Lilith is three." She rubbed her burgeoning stomach affectionately. "This one's a girl too. Dean likes Anna for a name, but I'm kind of partial to Ava, after my grandmother."

"All of this," Alan waved vaguely behind him, his gesture taking in the hospital as a whole and the two rooms that held their loved ones, "must be hard on you, especially now."

She laughed, easily, but Alan could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "I'm stronger than I look, Mr. Eppes. I come from sturdy stock. Besides, Dean's parents, Joe and Ellen, are coming in from Lawrence, Kansas sometime tomorrow. They'll be a big help with him and the kids both."

Alan smiled, knowingly, with a slight nod of his head. Over the years, when he and Margaret were raising their sons, there had been many times when they had had to rely on the help of family and friends.

"How're your sons doing, Mr. Eppes?" Ruby asked.

"First of all, call me Alan. Well, Dr. Colt is telling me Donnie's going to be on crutches for at least a month or more. Amazingly, there was only minor nerve and muscle damage from that awful animal trap he stepped in, but the wound did become infected – God knows how dirty that thing was – and that's setting the healing back a little. And Charlie's head and neck injury, along with the concussion, will keep him down for a while, too." Alan chuckled slightly, in spite of the seriousness of the situation – or maybe because of it. "Both of them, however, are telling me they are fine. So, weighing what the doctor says and knowing both of my sons propensity for being still for very long, I suspect it is somewhere in between. How's your husband?"

She sighed, deeply, and pulled the sweater tighter around her shoulders. "He'll be laid up for quite a while." She smiled a little and rubbed her stomach, absently. "Not a bad thing, considering. He'll be home to bond with the new one when she arrives next month."

The emotional impact of the last few days had, admittedly, caused Alan a few restless nights and his control of his thoughts and feelings was less sharp than usual. He couldn't help himself. Coming so close to losing both of his sons at the same time and standing before this glowingly pregnant woman, he experienced a floodgate of memories of his boys and their childhood. It didn't last long – not nearly long enough. Her voice was there, cutting through his thoughts and what she was saying dragged him back, confused and alert.

"...his left leg was broken. The doctors were able to set it and they say it should heal just fine. It's his right knee they're concerned about. It's messed up pretty bad and they are talking about having to replace it, but they have to wait until the swelling goes down before they can operate and repair all the damage."

"He hurt both of his legs?" An uneasy feeling settled deep in Alan's stomach when she nodded her head.

"Yes. That's why I'm so grateful to your sons. He certainly wouldn't have been able to walk away from the crash site without their help."

Alan was still frowning. "Funny," he mused, "I thought Donnie told me your husband only broke one of his legs. When he told me they helped the pilot, I guess I just pictured Don fashioning a crutch of some sort for Dean to use. He can be pretty resourceful."

"I'll say." Ruby said, quickly. "Dean told me they splinted his leg by using parts of the helicopter's rudder and tied it together with strips of Charlie's flannel shirt. They used the seat cushions to stabilize his injured knee, then he says they made a stretcher out of a section of the rotors and carried him."

Alan digested this new bit of information silently. Don had never mentioned the fact that he and Charlie had been forced to carry the injured pilot out of the wilderness.

"_After the crash we called for help, again, and they told us we had to get to another site for pickup. We patched up what injuries we could quickly – Dean's left leg was broken and Charlie, well, you know, his head and neck... We were really lucky that Dean is a tough one. He was in a lot of pain and Charlie and I had to help him some, but he stayed alert and was able to guide us to the next pick-up point."_

"Why would Don tell me he only broke one leg. I'm sure he told me Dean only broke one leg."

"Well, technically," she said in a soft voice that contrasted Alan's sharp tone, "he did only break one leg."

His eyes narrowed and with a pronounced emphasis on the last word, Alan muttered, "Yes, technically." He saw the loophole for what it was.

Alan had listened with silent trepidation as the doctors had described his sons' injuries; both of them suffering from smoke inhalation, Charlie's concussion and the damage to the nerves and muscles in his neck, the long gashes on the back of both of his hands and forearms that required stitches and what seemed like yards of white gauze bandages. He had seen for himself the vast multitude of cuts, scrapes and dark angry bruises that covered his youngest son's body. He had sat beside Don's bed and watched while the nurses changed the dressing on his ankle, had seen the infected punctures, the pale yellow-colored pus oozing from them; had seen the pain in his son's eyes as the nurse gently wrapped the bandage around his ankle once more. He had watched his oldest, trying to shift to a more comfortable position in bed, grimacing and holding his left side, which was also wrapped in white gauze. Injuries, painful and incapacitating for both of his boys, yet, they had struggled through dark, uneven, treacherous terrain, carrying nearly two hundred pounds between them. A myriad of emotions fought for dominance in Alan's mind; pride, confusion, anger.

Why did Don see the need to keep that from him? Did he think he couldn't handle a little blood, a little drama? He raised two sons, for crying out loud; two boys who were as different as they were alike. He and Margaret had endured their share of black eyes, split lips, skinned elbows, scraped knees, broken arms, dislocated shoulders and scary high fevers, and, not all of that, as one might assume, was from Don. Granted, he was always more adventurous and physical than his younger brother, but Charlie had his own way of testing their patience.

Now, as adults, they both continued to push the envelope, so to speak, and frequently faced situations more intense than skinned elbows and scraped knees. So far, though, he thought he had handled things well. He hadn't fallen apart through that awful case with the Russian Mafia or when Charlie was run off the road and shot at, or even when Don had been stabbed and almost died. Unless his son had held back details on any of those instances, he wondered why he felt the need to do so now.

Alan knew he didn't always get the complete story from Don and he knew it was partially his own fault – well, his and Margaret's. It had been so easy when Don established a pattern of taking care of himself early on to just let it happen. Alan knew his son's cavalier and often reticent attitude concerning the dangers he faces on his job was simply a throwback to his childhood and the amount of attention young Charlie had gotten. "_I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me, Dad." _

The irony of the situation did not escape Alan, either. Don, injured to the point of needing rescued himself, had limped painfully over perilous terrain, _becoming_ the rescuer, and, if Alan knew anything at all about his oldest son, probably more concerned with Charlie's injuries than his own.

During a heated protest in 1973 a policeman had lobbed his night stick along side of Alan's head and he had suffered a concussion from it. He still remembered the dizziness, the headaches, the nausea, and he thought of Charlie, concussed, probably stumbling along behind Don, carrying his share of the weight. It was certainly disturbing to imagine his sons in that condition – in that situation – but, why did Don feel it was necessary to lie about it? Well, Alan grudgingly admitted, it wasn't_ really_ lying, was it – unless you count lying by omission – and damn it, he _did_ count it.

"Are you okay?"

Alan startled at the sound of Ruby's voice. Embarrassed that he had forgotten his manners and had let his thoughts wander once again he cleared his throat. Hoping to put her at ease, he smiled and said, "Yes, dear, I'm fine." Trying to sound reassuring he added, "Really, it all worked out fine and we both have a great deal to be thankful for. Donnie didn't mention it, of course, but Ranger Castiel told me the fire was just minutes behind the rescue team that pulled them out of there. I know you must have been relieved when Dean told you that."

Her entire body stiffened at his words, her eyes suddenly growing dark and wide as one hand flew to her mouth and the other in a protective arch around her stomach. It was obvious it was the first time she had heard that bit of information.

Alan sighed. Visibly annoyed and frustrated, he stood straight and wearily arched his back again. "Mrs. Hunter – Ruby – it would appear we have more in common than family members with IVs." At her puzzled look, he elaborated. "Clearly, neither of us have the whole story."

She nodded her head, seeing his point. "It _is_ startin' to look like a piece of swiss cheese, isn't it? There's definitely a few holes."

They both turned, then, as a soft ding announced the arrival of the elevator. As the double doors opened, Alan gestured towards the opening. "What would you say to a little full disclosure over a cup of coffee?"

She smiled and nodded her head eagerly. "Make that a jumbo chocolate milkshake," she said with enthusiasm, "and it's a deal."

**tbc**

**A/N #2: For those of you who watch Supernatural, I'm sure you have noticed the play on names and references I've used. Purely for fun, I challenged myself to use as many names and/or references from the television program Supernatural as I could in this story. Please note – this is NOT a crossover. These are NOT the same characters; I simply borrowed some of the names. When writing a story with original characters, I often have trouble coming up with new names, so I had some fun and used some of the same names in Supernatural. For those of you who are interested, I have listed the references to Supernatural that I used in the chapter at the end of each one. If the name or reference appears in more than one chapter, it will only be listed the first time it appears. (ie; Ruby is in several chapters, but I'll only list her in chapter one.) For those who don't watch Supernatural, it won't affect your enjoyment of the story at all. They are just names. **

**Supernatural names/references for chapter one;**

**Carrigan ****(Edward and Madge) - "A Very Supernatural Christmas" - 3.08 **

**Black Rock - "Bad Day at Black Rock" – 3.03 **

**Rufus - fellow hunter**

**Rivergrove - "Croatoan" – 2.9**

**Kripke (Eric) - Creator of Supernatural**

**Michael - Archangel – multiple episodes seasons 5 & 6**

**Adam (Milligan) - Dean and Sam's half brother – recurring character since season 4 **

**Meg (Masters) - Recurring character throughout series**

**Dean (Winchester) - Main character - oldest Winchester brother**

**hunter - those who hunt demons and monsters; the Winchester's occupation**

**Harvell Roadhouse - roadhouse frequented by hunters – season two **

**Ruby - Recurring character from seasons three and four**

**Bobby (Singer) - Friend and father figure to Dean and Sam Winchester**

**Lilith - demon, also the final seal of the Apocalypse**

**Anna (Milton) - Fallen angel – 4th season**

**Ava - psychic from season two **

**Jo (Harvelle) - hunter**

**Ellen (Harvelle) - hunter**

**Lawrence, Kansas - the Winchester's home town. Where it all started.**

**colt - revolver made by Samuel Colt with the ability to kill any creature**

**Castiel - angel, recurring character since season four**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all so much for the reviews and alerts.**

**Full Disclosure**

_**- Chapter Two -**_

Although Black Rock State Park was a popular location for a large number of outdoor activities, and drew thousands of tourists every year, there wasn't an abundance of restaurants in the area; campers brought their own food and the more adventurous water rafters and skiers tended to congregate at Patrick's, a bar and grill ten miles south of town. The locals found a quick meal at the Carrigan Memorial Hospital cafeteria was often the best choice in town.

As Alan and Ruby walked into the large, green and white room, he was surprised at the brisk business it was doing in the middle of the afternoon. Alan stood in line for a few minutes, placing their order for coffee and a chocolate shake while Ruby found them a table in a secluded corner. After paying for their drinks he joined her, placing his cup of coffee and her milkshake on the table, then pulled her chair out for her. She smiled gratefully and eased herself slowly into it. He took the seat across from her and drew his coffee to him, holding it between his hands, enjoying its' warmth.

He watched her as she struggled to work the thick chocolate shake into the straw, her cheeks hollowing with the effort, and he tried to hide a smile behind his cup. She saw it, though, and stifled a laugh, setting the shake down in front of her. She shrugged her shoulders and said sheepishly, "For Bobby it was bacon cheeseburgers with onions. With Lilith it was pie, any kind. This time I just can't get enough chocolate."

Alan returned her smile, wistfully, remembering Margaret's third term craving for French fries when she was pregnant with both boys.

"So, where do we start?" Ruby stirred her milkshake, looking at Alan, waiting for him to begin.

Alan was actually having second thoughts about telling her things Dean may not want her to know and she must have seen the hesitation. She was immediately incensed.

"Alan, I told you, I'm stronger than I look. I'm not some silly scared little girl who's afraid of the boogey man. When I was pregnant with Bobby, Dean was in a car accident. He wasn't hurt that badly, but he was trapped inside the car and it caught on fire. He would have burned to death that day if Officer Crowley hadn't pulled him out. That's the only reason I reacted the way I did when you told me about the fire. I'm okay, really. I admit, I might be a little emotional, but that's simply the timing, this ... this pregnancy. I wish everyone would stop treating me like glass."

She wasn't expecting the smile she saw on Alan's face and she arched her eyebrows, studying him.

"You remind me of Margaret, my late wife," he explained. "She was strong like you, knew her own mind and was more than willing to give it to me or anyone else she thought needed it. I had to stop taking her to protests when she was pregnant with Charlie. Her emotions would get the best of her and she would either spend the time during the march or sit-in crying over nothing, or in the face of whatever authority was there to stop us, even the FBI, verbally harassing them with an audacity and language she was usually ashamed of later. We often thought the only reason she wasn't arrested many times was the cops saw she had her hands full keeping an angry four year old Donnie from jumping the man who was yelling at his mother."

She relaxed and Alan tentatively began. "I think we can agree that, for one reason or another, both Dean and Don left out certain details of their adventure. I was hoping if we compared their stories we might be able to get a more complete account. Before we begin, though, perhaps we should decide if this is something we really want to do. I mean they left out details for a reason, right?"

"He's my husband," she declared, indignantly. "We're suppose to share everything. If he doesn't see fit to fill me in, I'll just have to find out some other way."

Alan thought of the many times Don had come to the house, battered and exhausted but predictably tight-lipped about his current case. Having already heard his son's version of events, Alan was hoping this time, he had a chance to finally have all the details, good _and_ bad. He wasn't surprised to see the same look of dogged determination in Ruby's eyes. She returned his gaze, steady and unyielding, and he nodded. "Alright, then," he said, "we agree on full disclosure no matter what."

Alan took a hesitant sip of his coffee, testing how hot it was, then leaned forward. "Tell me about your husband."

She brightened, sitting up, her hands clutching the milk shake in front of her. "Well, Dean just turned 31. We've been married for nearly eight years – right after he was discharged from the army. That's where he learned to fly."

"Does he work for the forestry service?"

She laughed. "Oh, no. He works with my daddy at the water processing plant."

"I don't understand. Wasn't he sent to rescue Don and Charlie?"

She nodded, her mouth around the straw. "Yeah," she said after swallowing, "Dean's been a civilian member of SCAR for four years now. He loves it; says it's one of the most rewarding things he's ever done."

"Scar?"

"Southern California Aerial Rescue. Dean owns a Canadian Baby Bell helicopter – calls her Bela. They only call him a few times a year for help – when the state operated rescuer choppers are busy."

Alan nodded, understanding, knowing the state regulated helicopters would be busy helping the firefighters control the fires. "Well, I guess we were both lucky he was the one who picked them up. And, I guess it's my turn. You're probably wondering what Don and Charlie were doing there in the first place."

"Dean told me Don was with the FBI, so I assumed he was here because of the poaching." Ruby said, stirring her milkshake.

He nodded, confirming her statement. "Donnie told me tens of millions of animals are killed illegally every year. That's staggering, isn't it? It has to be difficult catching them; I mean, I imagine they only operate in remote, hidden locations. The FBI is involved because many of the pelts or skins, and even some of the live animals are being transported across state lines, some internationally, for sale to zoos or individuals." He shook his head, sadly. "It's deplorable."

"Is Charlie an agent, also?"

"No, Charlie is a math professor and he consults with the FBI. This time, though, it wasn't Don or the FBI that asked him to help out. The state forestry service wanted him to give them a projected outcome of the damage the poaching has caused to the eco system of the state park"

"So," she smiled and her eyes sparkled as she continued to stir her milkshake. "Now that we have the characters, let's get on with the story. What did your sons tell you about the crash?"

"Well, Charlie hasn't said much of anything. He's been sleeping a lot. Besides, he can't hide things from me like his brother can – or thinks he can. Donnie didn't tell me much about the actual crash. I mean, there's probably not a lot to say about it, huh? He said the helicopter crashed shortly after it left the ground, and, of course, everyone on board was injured."

Ruby blinked twice, silently staring at Alan for an instant and he swallowed the sudden fear that was creeping into his stomach at her expression.

When she broke eye contact with him and looked down at the table, her hands fidgeting with the shake in front of her, his anxiety escalated and he held his breath until she raised her head and faced him.

"What?" he managed, the knot of fear growing in his stomach.

She was quiet, hesitant and seemed to be searching for the right words. Alan prodded again. "What did Dean tell you?"

She started, slowly. "Dean got the call that two men, one with injuries, needed picked up along Campbell's Ridge. That's a pretty rough area to land in. Dean said he was able to set down along a steep rock face and he loaded your older son, Don, into Bela to bring him..."

"Wait a minute." Alan interrupted. Even though he knew both of his sons were safe and sleeping in a room on the next floor up from where he sat, he was suddenly filled with an unreasonable fear. "What about Charlie?"

"The Canadian Bell is smaller than most helicopters. It's why it's used in so many rescue ops; it can get in some places the larger choppers can't." She spoke softly, obviously choosing her words carefully. "Bela is only a two seater. Dean could only take one at a time."

Alan's mouth opened and closed several times before he swallowed and nodded his head once at her, urging her to continue, unable to erase the image of Charlie being left behind, but giving in to the sudden intense need to hear the truth.

"Dean told me he had a hard time convincing Don to go and leave Charlie there. They could probably see the fire line from there by then, even though it was miles away, and I imagine the smoke was starting to settle in that area. Dean left a survival pack and plenty of water with Charlie, just in case, but in the worst case scenario, it would only take Dean ten to fifteen minutes to get Don to the hospital and back again to pick Charlie up. He had no choice. The injured party is always the first to be transported – always – and Dean wouldn't have strayed from that. Even then, he said Don resisted and it took him and Charlie both to strap him into the chopper seat."

At first, Alan tried to imagine a scenario where Charlie and _anyone_ could have forced Don into the helicopter if it meant leaving Charlie behind and in danger. He must have been weak from pain and blood loss if they were able to do that, Alan thought. He tried to remember what Don had told him about the crash. Certainly he would have remembered something like Charlie being left behind, alone, on a ridge nearly overrun by fire.

"_Charlie called the ranger station and they told us they would have someone there in less than 10 minutes. When Dean showed up I could tell he knew what he was doing. I admit we weren't in the best place for him to set a chopper down, but he made it look easy. Unfortunately, the take off didn't go as well. It must have been an updraft or something, Dad, cause he lost control seconds after we left the ground. The tail rotor hit the rock and we started spinning. Dean couldn't gain enough altitude to try to land and he couldn't regain control. We went down hard, front end first. I'm not sure but I think maybe Dean managed a last minute maneuver that kept me from getting the brunt end of the crash, because I wasn't hurt too bad except for the cuts from the glass and stuff. The cockpit dashboard was shoved forward into Dean's legs, though, and we had a rough time getting him out. Charlie ended up outside, spread out against some rocks."_

Alan shook his head. "I don't understand," he said, weakly, confused. "Don said they were all injured in the crash. How could Charlie be injured in the crash when he wasn't even on the ..."

The truth hit Alan so hard he lurched forward in his seat, gasping. "Oh, dear God. It _fell_ on him?"

Somewhere in the logical, reasoning part of Alan's head, the part that wasn't swirling in panic, he knew the helicopter did not fall directly on his youngest son. Obviously, he would have been crushed. The thoughts that did swirl in his mind overrode the reasoning, though, and he shuddered at the images that assailed him – images that played out like a horrific slide show; Don, trapped inside the spiraling chopper, knowing it was going to crash – fear for himself secondary to his brother, similarly trapped on the ground. Was Don able to see Charlie, wide-eyed, desperately trying to get out of the way or was Charlie directly under the chopper when it fell and just incredibly lucky to have survived? Or worse, did they have eye contact with each other as the disaster played out, both witnessing the terror in each others eyes?

Ruby's voice, still slow and deliberate, penetrated Alan's thoughts. "... and Dean said he barely cleared the tree line when he lost control. It all happened very fast, Alan."

She reached across the table and took his hands in hers. Hers were cold from holding the sides of her milkshake glass and his, he was slightly ashamed to say, were trembling. He saw the compassion in her eyes and for just a moment he felt old and very tired.

"Alan, maybe we shouldn't..."

"No." He said quickly, sitting back in the chair again. Shaking his head from side to side he looked directly into her concerned, expressive eyes. "No, I want to know. I need to know. Full disclosure, dear, remember?"

**tbc**

**A/N: There really is a Baby Bell helicopter. Canadian officials use it for rescue operations. It weighs about 1500 pounds and is, as Alan found out, only able to carry two passengers.**

**List of Supernatural names/references;**

**Patrick - warlock - "The Curious Case of Dean Winchester" 5-07**

**bacon cheeseburger with onion - Dean's favorite food**

**pie - Dean's favorite dessert**

**Boogie Man - 2005 motion picture – Kripke wrote the screenplay**

**Crowley - a high-ranking crossroads demon first introduced in 5-10**

**Bela (Talbot) - master thief and dealer of occult items - 3rd season**

**Campbell - Dean and Sam's mother's maiden nam**e


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the reviews. Hope you enjoy chapter three.**

**Full Disclosure**

_**- Chapter Three -**_

Don bit his lower lip, struggling to get the crutches under his arms without putting any weight on his foot or waking his brother. He had previous experience using crutches – had used them several times before for various job and sports related injuries, but it always took a little time to get the hang of it again.

The nurse, a perky little redhead named Pamela, had just been in to check on them and he had awakened with a start when she pulled the sheets back to look at his bandages. She had checked his and Charlie's vitals, then apologized for waking him and left with a cherry smile and a promise to leave him alone for awhile so he could rest. He had fully intended to do just that until he had noticed his father was not in the room.

Alan had been with them since they arrived at the hospital and even though he assumed his father had just gone for a cup of coffee, it had still been a little unsettling to see the chair by Charlie's bed vacant.

It had only taken him a moment to decide to take advantage of Alan's absence; he would slip down the hall to see how Dean Hunter was doing. The doctor, after all, had said to try to get up and move around. He had been a little dizzy when he first sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, but a few deep breaths later it went away. He slipped off the bed, centering his weight on the crutches and his uninjured foot.

Even though he had been quiet, Charlie stirred slightly. Don froze, holding his position, standing on one leg while his brother made a small sound of distress and raised a bandaged hand to his neck. With his eyes still closed, Charlie scratched at the soft collar around his neck, grimacing slightly, then let his hand fall to the bed again. Don remained still until his brother's face relaxed and his breathing evened out, then, biting his lip, he took three careful steps towards his Charlie's bed.

Don studied him. He had to give him credit, the kid had really come last few day's ordeal had tested _him_, nearly taken him to his limit; he could only imagine how hard it had been on Charlie. His brother had never complained though, had never quit. The truth was, Don himself, might have died a horrible death if Charlie hadn't ... Don swallowed, looking at both his brother's arms, wrapped in yards of white bandages and shuddered. His heart raced at the memory and the utter terror that came with it, so he forced his thoughts in another direction, looking instead, at the source of Charlie's recent discomfort – the cervical collar.

Despite the intense bone-jarring impact when the helicopter crashed, Don had not lost consciousness. He had quickly unhooked his seat belt and checked on the pilot's condition. Finding him alive and fairly cognizant, he had climbed out of the cockpit to check on his brother. He had found him several feet away, bloody and unconscious. Charlie had regained consciousness right away as Don was checking him for injuries and for a while they thought the worse of it was the large open cut just below his hairline. They discovered the neck injury as soon as Don had helped his brother stand up.

Don had the requisite emergency training the bureau provided, but it didn't go much further than stablizing broken bones and applying pressure to bleeding wounds. The fact that Charlie was not experiencing any numbness, tingling, paralysis or blinding pain had seemed like a good thing, so, in the end, considering the situation they were in, they did what they had to do.

Looking at his brother now, Don marveled again at his brother's resilience, but gazing at the collar and the white bandage on his forehead that still seemed to be leaking fluid, his thoughts turned to their father. Don hated that Alan had to see Charlie like that. If he could have prevented that, in any way, he would have.

He had developed a pattern early in his days of working with the bureau of protecting his family from knowing the danger he was often in – and when that danger resulted in injury. What they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them, right? He didn't want them to worry about him, and in the same line of reasoning, if he had to worry about how his family would react, it might affect how he did his job, so along with the detachment he had developed to keep himself from becoming too emotionally involved, he had established a pattern of 'selective sharing', as Megan Reeves had coined it.

It had been easy enough to let Alan and everyone think that all of his and Charlie's injuries were from being in the helicopter when it crashed. Only the Black Rock authorities, who he had given his report to, and David and Colby, who had taken his statement for the bureau, were privy to the details; and, of course, Dr. Colt and Dean Hunter.

He hadn't seen the pilot since their rescue and he thought, with Alan gone, it would be a good time to see how he was doing.

He made it across the room to the door, then with a maneuver he was relieved no one was around to see, he reached forward, squeezing the crutch under his armpit to keep it in place, and pulled the door open, inch by inch, moving backwards, one hop at a time to accommodate the opening door. He braced the door behind his shoulder and moved unsteadily into the hallway. By the time he reached Dean's room, he was breathing heavily and his forehead was beaded with perspiration.

He thought about knocking on the closed door, but settled for the clack of the crutches as he tried to open it. "Hey," he called into the room, "you decent?"

"Hey, Don. Come on in."

Dean Hunter lay at a slight angle, his head elevated just to the point it could be said he wasn't lying flat. His left leg, encased in layers and layers of white, hung suspended in a long sling-like apparatus which was hooked to a rod attached to the bottom of the bed. A sheet covered most of his right leg and hip, the swollen enlarged area where his injured knee rested beneath it clearly visible. The pilot smiled, a toothy grin that lit up his face and motioned for Don to sit down on the chair next to the bed. "Take a load off, man. You're looking a little peaked there."

"Look who's talking." Don said, panting with the effort of maneuvering around the bottom of the bed and avoiding the IV stand. He sat down hard, glad to be off his feet (foot) and leaned the crutches against the bottom of the bed.

"How's the ankle?" Dean asked. When Don shrugged dismissively Dean snorted and shook his head. "Don't give me that bull. I was there, remember?"

Don tilted his head and pursed his lip, still unwilling to give into complaint. "Could be worse," he mumbled.

"You really messed it up carrying me, didn't you?"

"Not as much as you screwed up your chopper trying to rescue Charlie and I." Don said bluntly.

"Yeah, well, Bela's insured."

"Who do you think paid for these top of the line wooden crutches, man? The bureau takes care of it's own, you know."

Dean grinned, giving the point to Don, then asked, "How's Charlie?"

Don's expression sobered. He took a deep breath in and expelled it quickly through puffy cheeks and pursed lips. "Sleeping now. He took a hit of the good stuff and drifted right off. The doctors keep talking about how lucky he was that he didn't break his neck." Don shifted in the chair, wincing, his hand pressed against his side. "I gotta tell you, Hunter, when we were going down that's all I could think of. And if Dad knew how close it really was...well, let's just say he'll sleep a lot better if he never finds out."

Dean's expression was grim as he nodded and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I don't get called out on these rescues very often, but sometimes they can get pretty hairy. Ruby's there alone dealing with the kids and the house and everything; I mean her mom, Mary, is there helping out sometimes, but, I don't think Ruby needs to know when things don't always go right. I come back home, I'm fine, she doesn't need to know what could have happened." He fidgeted with the edge of the white blanket. "Right now, in her eighth month, Ruby's kinda emotional, you know? Sometimes, I even call her when I leave the house in the morning and tell her not to take LaGrange Road going into town later. You know why? 'Cause there's a dead deer along the side and I know she'll be upset if she sees it. She'll cry for hours – Bambi, you know. So, it's not like I'm going to tell her how close the damn fire got to us. I mean, she's got a thing about fires already and I figured she's got enough to handle right now without that."

Don studied the man in front of him for a moment, then, "She didn't see the scorch marks on your jacket?"

Dean shook his head. "Ed and Harry, the medics, they're old friends. I asked them to get rid of it."

Don nodded, understanding, recognizing the same ideals and principles he used to protect his own family.

Dean looked up. "So, what did you tell your dad?"

"Well, I could hardly hide the fact that I was clumsy enough to step in that stupid bear trap. I told him Charlie called for help and you came, but the helicopter crashed on take off and we were all injured. He doesn't need to know that Charlie wasn't on board with us. I mean it's better to let him think that than to know the helicopter essentially fell on top of him, huh?"

Don couldn't believe how calmly he said those words. He shuddered, trying to block out images of the helicopter spinning in erratic circles, seeing his brother through the windshield on every dizzy revolution, trying to get out of it's path.

Dean's voice was tinted with skepticism when he spoke. "You sound like your Dad is only worried about Charlie. I'm sure he was just as concerned about you when they called him about the crash."

Another bad moment. Don winced, thinking of his father receiving that call, but shook it off quickly. "No, that's not it. The very nature of my job puts me in situations I don't always tell Dad, or even Charlie, about. I know he worries, but, I can take care of myself." With another small, off-handed shrug, Don added, "Charlie's always needed a little more looking after."

Dean studied the man sitting in front of him. After the crash and the second phone call for help, they had all taken a few minutes to collect themselves before continuing the trek to the alternative pick-up site. He had watched as Don, still feeling the effects of the crash, had limped to his younger brother – on an ankle that was still bleeding – and cleaned some of Charlie's more serious cuts and injuries, using the first aid kit from the chopper. Dean had been fascinated. Literally moments before, Don had been weak and frail enough that they had been able to force him into Bela. Well, ... weak, but hostile, angry and argumentative, threatening both Dean and Charlie with dire consequences if he was forced to board the chopper without his brother. Cleaning the deep, open gash on Charlie's forehead, though, Don had been quiet and gentle. Even though his hands had been shaking and he flinched every time his brother hissed in pain, Don had wrapped the wound tightly, then cleaned the other cuts and scrapes with the antiseptic.

It had been obvious that Charlie had sustained an injury to his neck. Every time he tried to turn his head, he would moan or grimace, but the chopper's first aid kit didn't include a cervical collar or anything resembling it. Don had not been deterred. Using his pocket knife, Don had slashed open one of the seat cushions and ripped out the hard foam. He had trimmed it with the knife until it fit snuggly under Charlie's chin, then fastened it with the duct tape Dean always kept behind the back seat. That, at least, had kept Charlie from moving his head too much and possibly causing permanent damage. After that, he had splinted Dean's leg and taped his injured knee between two seat cushions to stabilize it. Don had tended to his own ankle, refusing Charlie's help, as it would have meant his brother would have to bend over.

Dean wondered what bottomless well Don Eppes had dragged his stamina from. It had to be more than adrenalin. It was like those fake TV cops who were hit over the head with a baseball hat, than shot three times and run over by a truck, but still managed to stop the terrorists from blowing up the White House. Intrepid, heroic, indomitable; those who have what it takes to get the job done, then crash and burn afterwards, when the world was safe again.

Dean shook his head. "What did you tell your Dad about capturing the poacher's top gun, John Henricksen, and that crazy night at the Point?"

"At first, I told him we had seen signs of the poachers around, but we tried to avoid a confrontation with a possibly armed felon, considering the shape we were all in."

"And he bought that?"

"It wasn't really a lie." Don's tone was sharp, as if he dared the man to contradict him. "I _was _concerned about you and Charlie and what would happen if a firefight developed."

With obvious effort, Dean raised himself up on his elbows**,** defensive and insulted. "Hey, fed, I was in the 101st Airborne. I could have handled myself."

Don's eyebrows went up, challengingly. "With two broken legs?"

Deadpanned, Dean replied, "Really, it's only one broken leg."

Don laughed, quickly, and the tension faded. "I told him Henricksen came into our campsite and I was able to subdue him."

"Bit of an understatement, isn't it?"

"It's like you said, it's over, he doesn't need to know what could have happened." Don shrugged one shoulder and splayed his fingers through his hair. "I didn't go into great detail about taking the poachers down, either. I mean, he knows I had to fire my weapon, and I guess I told him we were a little outnumbered, but, it's over. Let it be."

"Soooo, you didn't tell him about Charlie and the ..."

"No." Don snapped instantly, his voice tight and his dark eyes flashing. "No, I didn't tell him and I hope he never finds out."

There was a moment of uneasy silence while Dean played with the edge of his blanket and Don chewed his lip, then Dean spoke up. "So, is your Dad staying out at the Crossroads Motel?"

"Yeah. I wish he would go get some decent rest. I saw him sleeping in that chair over by Charlie's bed again. He sure didn't look comfortable. I think he went down to the cafeteria for some coffee."

Dean suddenly stiffened and groaned, his eyes closed tightly, his head thrown back against the pillow.

Don moved quickly, struggling to get out of the chair on one leg. "What? You need something? You alright?"

Dean opened his eyes, looked directly at Don and spoke. "Ruby just went to the cafeteria, too. You don't suppose...?"

The room was quiet as they contemplated the chances of Alan and Ruby actually meeting and sharing information. Both men chastised themselves for not realizing it was likely to happen in the small hospital. They shared anguished glances, each one knowing what the outcome of such a meeting would be. "Aw, shit," they moaned together.

**tbc**

**List of Supernatural names/references;**

**Pamela (Barnes) - psychic, seasons 4 and 5**

**Mary (Winchester) - Dean and Sam's mother**

**(Roy) LaGrange - faith healer, season 1 "Faith" 1.12**

**Ed (Zeddmore) and ****Harry (Spangler) - "Ghostfacers" 3.13**

**John (Winchester) - Dean and Sam's father, uber demon hunter**

**(Victor) Henricksen - FBI agent season 2**

**crossroads - an intersection of two roads (usually rural) where a person can strike a deal with the Devil**


	4. Chapter 4

Nice to see people are still reading Numb3rs stories. Thanks to those who are reviewing. Hope you like chapter four.

**Full Disclosure**

_**- Chapter Four -**_

Alan's coffee sat in front of him, untouched and nearly forgotten. He tried to assimilate what Don had told him about the crash with the horrific details of Ruby's story and he came to one undeniable conclusion; Don had deliberately let him think Charlie had been in the helicopter. There was no doubt about that. Another lie by omission? On the other hand, Alan conceded grudgingly, what should Don have said; _Oh, and by the way, Dad, Charlie was on the ground and underneath the helicopter when it_ _crashed._

Don was an honest man, of that he had no doubt. Once when Don had been 15, he wanted to go to a party being thrown by a senior. A warning note from his physics teacher stating he needed a good grade on the upcoming test to pass the course had prompted them to ground him from any outside activities until after the test. Knowing they would not let him go to the party, Don had told them he was going to a friend's house to study, then slipped away to the party. A chance meeting with another parent the next day, who told Margaret her son told her Don was the life of the party, uncovered his deception. Margaret confronted him – he defiantly confessed – and he spent four hours sitting in his room, waiting for Alan to come home and deal out his punishment. Years later, he had told Alan that was the last time he had lied about anything – those four hours had been torturous and he never wanted to experience that again.

Alan was still struggling with his thoughts when a voice behind him said, "Ruby, Mr. Eppes, mind if I join you?"

Senior Ranger Sam Castiel stood behind them, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

Ruby was quick to reply, "Sam, sit, sit." She indicated the chair between her and Alan. "Maybe you can help us."

At her invitation, the large, muscular man pulled the chair out and lowered himself into it. His bushy, sand-colored hair and rugged appearance resembled an aging Robert Redford, and, Alan, having already talked to the man several times since arriving in Carrigan, liked him. Sam threw Ruby a mischievous grin. "Whoa now, Ruby, this isn't going to get me in trouble with the old lady, is it?"

Ruby grinned. Sam's wife Lisa, was a lively, friendly, always planning/doing/cleaning something. She was in her mid 40's and Ruby didn't think she had ever met anyone as 'young' as Lisa Castiel. Ruby laughed. "I don't know why she puts up with your ornery hide."

He huffed good-naturedly, obviously agreeing with her, then smiled in greeting at Alan. "What are you two up to?"

"Well," Ruby jumped in, "it appears what Don Eppes told his father about their adventure doesn't exactly match what Dean told me. We're comparing notes. You know everything that happens in that park, Sam. Maybe you can fill in some holes."

The ranger studied her, his expression neutral and non-committing. She broke the silence first, her tone suddenly brimming with hurtful accusation. "He didn't tell me how close the fire was to them, Sam."

"Can't say I really blame him." Sam's reply was as unruffled and relaxed as the man himself. "My job puts me in situations that I don't always share in great detail with Lisa."

Ruby nearly snapped at the ranger, "He's my husband. I have a right to know... _we_ have a right to know what happened." She had motioned towards Alan, including him in her demand.

Ranger Castiel chewed his lip, studying both of them silently.

Alan, sensing the man needed more convincing, leaned forward. "I nearly lost both of my sons," he said, earnestly, his expression grave, his tone imploring. "I want to know what happened, what Don didn't tell me."

The large man was silent for so long, Alan thought maybe he wasn't going to answer, then finally Sam nodded and said, "Alright. What do you want to know?"

Thinking of Don and Charlie's injuries, Alan asked, "How far away from the crash site were they finally picked up?"

"Uh, about 8 miles as the crow flies, but they traveled a lot longer than that."

Ruby sipped her milkshake. "Yeah, Dean told me he took them along Singers Trail. It's definitely longer."

"Unfortunately it's also a pretty steady climb. It's actually just an old game trail, not used for much these days since the construction out on Interstate 4 started and chased all the deer to the south. It would have been real hard going for them considering their injuries. But, Dean would've known it was best to head for high ground, towards Bender Pass and Winchester Falls. There's a clearing not too far from the falls that a larger rescue chopper could set down in."

Alan was confused. "But, weren't they heading directly towards the fire?"

Shaking his head, Sam replied, "They didn't know that at the time. Henricksen's crew had just set that fire. They had actually torched the other campsite that morning, the one at Devil's Gate, and it was burning just to the east – it's that one they were trying to get clear of. They barely made it off Campbell's Ridge before it went up in flames. "

Alan could hear Don's voice in his head; _"It wasn't much of a trail, Dad. We could still see the fire line off to the east, but Dean knew where we were going; said we couldn't take the main trail 'cause it would loop back where the smoke was the heaviest – and I was, hey, as long as we're heading away from the fire, you know? Charlie was getting pretty tired, I think his neck was bothering him. He never complained, though. Sometimes I forget how strong he is – or wait, maybe that's just his natural stubbornness."_

Alan grumbled under his breath. Once again, Don had managed to camouflage the danger they had been in, then cleverly mask it by mentioning Charlie's condition.

The sound of a chair sliding across the floor brought his thoughts back and he looked up to see Sheriff Zachariah Gordon sitting down across from Ranger Castiel. On the table in front of the sheriff was a plate heaping with roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy. Perhaps double gravy, Alan thought, by the way it completely covered everything on the plate and slid off both sides onto the table. Alan unconsciously leaned away from the mess. In the short time span of their acquaintance, which consisted of a brief two minute meeting when he first arrived in Carrigan, Alan Eppes had determined that the sheriff was an irascible, cranky old man who didn't possess an ounce of compassion or tact - or apparently, good table manners. The man definitely rubbed Alan the wrong way.

"We've been discussing some of the events that put Hunter and those two Eppes boys in their rooms upstairs," Sam was saying.

The sheriff snorted – a trait Alan found disturbing, since that man had a mouthful of food – and replied, "The folks around Green River County are going to be rehashin' this story for some time. We don't git that much excitement around these parts, and a ruthless gang of poachers settin' fire to government land and a real shoot-out between the FBI and the criminals – hell's bells, people will be talking about this for the next fifty years."

Alan's breath drew in sharply. "Shootout?" he asked weakly. "What shootout?"

"With the gang of poachers, of course." Gordan barked, gruffly, shaking his head at Alan's apparent lack of understanding.

Alan leaned back against the chair. Unsettled by this new information, he wiped a shaky hand across his brow**.** Did Don mention a gunfight? He wasn't sure...

Ruby was talking and Alan, not wanting to miss anything, put the gunfight scenario in the back of his mind to be addressed later and listened.

"There's not too many places up that way for camping. Did either of them tell you where they spent the night?"

"Now, Ruby," Sam spoke slowly and Alan started at the tone in the man's voice. He had had to utilize the same tone many times with Margaret when she was pregnant; that hesitant, flinching, 'how-is-she-going-to-react tone. "You ain't gonna be real happy about this, but, Dean did what he thought was right and they spent the night at Demon Point."

She stiffened and swallowed a mouthful of shake, nearly choking on it. "He what?" She pushed the milkshake away from her, and pierced the two men with wide, panic-filled eyes. "Demon Point!" she cried. "Of all the places he could have taken them, why there?" To all three men's alarm, the woman suddenly burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

Sam reached forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Now, Ruby," he said calmly, "you know as well as I do, they could see for miles in every direction from up there and it was the best place to keep an eye on the fires."

"Demon Point," Alan shuddered and gave Ruby a sympathetic look. "Sounds awful. How did it get that name?"

"Well, it's really just one of them urban legend things, you know. Every town has one," Sam explained, still rubbing Ruby's arm compassionately.

"Yes," Alan conceded, "but usually it's Lover's Leap or Make-Out Bluff. Not too many to do with demons."

"Yep, I'll give you that. Seems like a while back two young brothers were driving through this area and claimed to have seen a – what's that called, oh yeah, a coven of witches performing a satanic ritual there. No one believed them, of course, but a few days later their Chevy Impala was found at the bottom of the ravine, burned to a crisp, and the brothers were never seen again."

Alan couldn't suppress another shudder. The thought of his sons spending the night where those two unfortunate brothers met their end gave him chills.

"They say the point is haunted by their ghosts," Ruby said quietly, sniffing, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at Sam and hastily snapped, "I know, I know, there's no such thing, but, Sam, you have to admit strange things happen up there." She sniffed again and Sam offered her his handkerchief.

Sam nodded absently, but it was Sheriff Gordon who spoke, waving his gravy covered spoon in the air for emphasis. "There may not be no ghosts or demons up there, but I get the chills up my back ever' time I'm there."

Uneasy with the idea of his sons spending the night in such a place, Alan looked to the ranger for assurance and Sam grinned. "I think it's just one of those places that has a certain energy about it. Like those crazy tourists places where things roll uphill."

Gordan snorted. "Energy or not, you have to admit what went on there that night, Sam, was mighty hard to believe."

Alan dredged his son's description of that night, desperate for some assurance, some comfort.

"_Because of the fire, we had to take the long way around. It was a little rough with us helping Dean as much as we could and Charlie hurting like he was, but, he kept going. No kidding Dad, you say he's always trying to impress me; well, he sure did. It was slow going, and we couldn't make it before nightfall. We had to stop and set up camp. Dean had some survival kits with those protein bars stashed on the chopper and we brought those with us. Tasted pretty bad – actually a lot like Aunt Irene's eggplant casserole – but it was something. I didn't think a fire was a good idea, considering the poachers might still be in the area, but Charlie was probably going through some delayed shock or something because he couldn't stop shivering, so I built a small campfire. We were all pretty tired. It was actually a strange place. Dean chose it because we could keep an eye on the fire from the lookout – which was good thinking on his part – but, still, it was kind of strange. One of those places that make your skin crawl, for no reason at all. I kept feeling like someone was watching us. Must have been Henricksen. We'd seen some tracks earlier that were probably his, but, seeing the shape we were all in, we tried to avoid a confrontation with him. We were sitting around, trying to stay warm when I heard something in the woods behind us**. **It could have been anything from a deer to a rabid raccoon, but I motioned for Dean and Charlie to stay put and I slipped into the woods to the right. Henricksen came right into the camp, carrying a hunting rifle. He was focused on them and didn't see me until it was too late. We struggled and I was able to subdue him and cuffed him to a tree."_

Alright, Alan thought, nothing too unusual or upsetting there. "Don told me that's when he captured that poacher. My son is a very good FBI agent, there's nothing strange about that. He's caught lots of criminals."

"Yeah, well," Sheriff Gordon mumbled, chewing a piece of roast beef, "the file on Henricksen came across my desk this morning; thick as a virgin's mattress. He's wanted for armed robbery, extortion, gun-running and several murders – one a US Marshall. Hires himself out – one of those damn mercenaries. Any fight with the likes of him would be a fight to the death – no mercy. He's a ruthless as they come."

Alan let his irritation with the ill-mannered sheriff affect his tired emotions and he found himself vigorously defending his son's ability. "Donnie was tactical instructor at Quantico a few years back. He's head of the Violent Crimes squad at the Los Angeles field office. He's pretty good hand to hand. I told you, he's a damn good FBI agent."

"Didn't say he wasn't." Gordan seemed unruffled, "Just saying he wasn't in the best shape. I mean, he was already hurtin', weak and probably damn tired. For him to be able to subdue Henricksen alone – well, let's just say it wasn't likely."

"You don't know my son." Alan huffed. "He would have been motivated by something else – something I think means more to him than bringing in the bad guys or even his own safety." At their puzzled faces, Alan said, "If Henricksen managed to get the best of Donnie, it would have left Charlie vulnerable and in danger." Alan shook his head. "No, no, Donnie wouldn't have let that happen."

"Vulnerable?" The sheriff and ranger exchanged glances and once again, Gordan snorted. Sam turned to Alan. "Vulnerable isn't exactly how I would describe Charlie Eppes. From what I heard, he damn near saved all of them – _including_ Henricksen."

Alan's jaw dropped. "What...what are you talking about?"

"I told 'ya," Gordan insisted, "strange things happen up at Demon Point. Your FBI boy, superman or not, couldn't take that poacher down alone."

Confused, Alan asked, "You mean Charlie helped Don capture Henricksen?"

"Naw." The sheriff shook his head, once again irritated that Alan was apparently unable to keep up with the conversation. He leaned across the table, into Alan's face, his breath reeking of roast beef and tobacco, and said with a leering grin, "I don't s'pose your young'un told you about the bear."

**tbc**

**List of Supernatural names/references;**

**Sam (Winchester) - Main character, Dean's younger brother**

**Castiel - Angel, main character since season 4 **

**Lisa (Braeden) - love interest of Dean's - 1st appearance in 3.2 "The Kids are Alright." Reappearing in season 6**

**Singer - Bobby's last name**

**Bender - name of demented family in season one – 1.15 "Benders"**

**Winchester - Dean and Sam's last name**

**Devil's Gate - gate to hell, most prominently at the end of season 2**

**Zachariah - Angel, Castiel's superior, seasons 4 and 5**

**Green River County - "Folsom Prison Blues" season 2, 2-19**

**Gordon (Walker) - hunter, seasons 2 and 3 **

**demon - an evil spirit from hell**

**two brothers - in this case reminiscent of Dean and Sam Winchester**

**witch's coven - a grouping of witches**

**satanic ritual - a ceremonial act honoring the devil**

**Chevy Impala - Dean's 'baby'**

**ghosts - multiple episodes throughout series**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to those who are still reading and a special thanks to those who are reviewing.**

**Full Disclosure**

_**-Chapter Five-**_

**Warning; Small spoiler for Sniper Zero**

Charlie was still asleep when Don struggled through the doorway again, his arms trembling with the effort to hold himself upright. Damn, he hated feeling this weak. He had to admit he might have jumped the gun a bit by going to Dean's room by himself, but he had never been one to sit back and wait. His ankle hurt like hell and he eyed his bed wistfully, but hobbled towards his brother's instead and practically fell into the empty green chair beside it, hissing quietly at the jab of pain in his side. He placed the crutches on the floor beside him and settled back in the chair.

The conversation with Dean and the knowledge that at this very moment his father could be hearing all the graphic details of their ordeal had unsettled him.

He wasn't afraid Alan would fall apart if he knew what had happened. He was just trying to shield him from some of the harsher aspects of their ordeal – trying to save him a few sleepless nights. Was that so wrong? He didn't think so. He had been doing it for years; for Alan, his mother and even Charlie. Lately, though, he had been forced to draw Charlie into the subterfuge. To his knowledge their father was still blissfully unaware of their close call at Banateck Towers during the LA sniper case.

The door opened quietly and the shift-change nurse came in. The tag on her uniform said her name was Jessica. She looked disapprovingly at him. "You should be in bed."

He smiled at her. For most of Don's life that smile had charmed perturbed teachers, smoothed the ruffled feathers of co-workers and supervisors, calmed a few excited and irrational perps, and, even though his parents knew better, gotten his way past a few late curfews. "In a minute," he offered.

Jessica tsked, but took his vitals, then checked on Charlie. After writing down the pertinent information on their charts, she turned to him again. "Do you need anything?"

He shook his head. "I'm good." She looked at him over the rim of her glasses and he chuckled at being on the receiving end of the familiar gesture. "Dad will be back soon," he compromised. "I'll get in bed then." She hesitated, he smiled again, and she left the room.

He tried to find a more comfortable position in the chair, pressing his hand against his bandaged side as he moved. He wondered how his father had managed to spend two days sitting here. It was when he relaxed and looked at his brother that he knew; he wasn't sure why, but he found it oddly comforting to sit there and watch Charlie sleep. Alan, no doubt, had found his own level of comfort watching both his sons resting and healing.

Fighting the lethargy that was probably the result of his unassisted trip to Dean's room and the fever he felt increasing with every minute, Don's thoughts became moody and reflective.

In an emotional exchange years ago, his brother had accused him of being detached. It was something he easily admitted to. He had to be detached in order to function in the violent world of criminals he faced everyday. At Quantico they taught you to compartmentalize your emotions and feelings. A good agent had to be passionate about helping the victims and taking as many criminals off the street as they could – but he also had to safeguard his own mental stability. Those who couldn't were the ones who just woke up one day and called it quits – or worse, ate their gun.

The question was, can the agent's loved ones develop their own sense of detachment? Should he expect Alan, or even Charlie, to separate their emotions when they hear he had to talk down a man with explosives strapped to his chest, or that he was involved in a gunfight with a couple of desperate bank robbers, or forced to shoot a murderer who was driving a carload of grenades towards him? Should his family just shrug it off, sit in the dark with a few beers – as he did – then go to bed, knowing the same, or worse could happen the next day?

It wasn't that easy, and he knew it. There was no fine line between him being able to cope with his feelings and his family being forced to do the same. That's where his 'selective sharing' came in. If they didn't know all of the particulars, all the details, they wouldn't have to sit at night, staring into the darkness, looking for answers to questions that didn't exist. Don was the protector in more ways than one, and with that thought in mind, he scrubbed his face wearily and wondered what his father was going to think when he found out about Charlie and the bear.

He'd told his father about setting up camp that night at Demon Point. He had no regrets about telling Alan that Charlie had been suffering from delayed shock because he knew his father's focus would shift to worry about his youngest. He had been truthful about hearing the noise as Henricksen approached and how he had slipped into the trees, then struggled with the poacher until he was able to handcuff him to a tree. The rest ... well, ...

Henricksen hadn't walked into the campsite that night as a criminal trying to stop the authorities from arresting him. The poacher had burst from the darkened tree line, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fear and unmistakable panic. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Charlie and Dean, directly across the clearing from him. Recalling the incident now, Don was still amazed at how quickly things had gone wrong. He had watched, from his concealment, as Henricksen recovered from the shock instantly and raised the rifle barrel towards Charlie, then, before he could move to help his brother, all hell literally broke loose.

His body had been tense, ready to spring out and order Henricksen to drop his weapon when a thunderous noise from the woods behind the poacher drew everyone's attention. A huge grizzly bear stormed into the small clearing, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of the men, much like Henricksen had done. The bear had already been wounded, bleeding from a deep graze on the side of it's neck and was extremely agitated. The creature was drooling great globs of saliva from his open mouth, the substance running down the long length of it's teeth, and when he roared and shook his head, the clearing was sprayed with drool and blood. Henricksen had paled at the sight, dropped his gun, turned and ran into the trees, directly towards him. With no choice but to confront the poacher, he had tackled the man head on, knocking the two of them into the clearing.

As they fought he could hear the bear's incessant, angry roars and he had been terrified for Charlie and Dean, but he had known immediately Henricksen was well-trained and he had to stay focused. The bear had been an unknown variable, as Charlie would say. He didn't know what the bear might do, but he knew what Henricksen was capable of.

At one point he had felt the bear's hot fetid breath on his neck and he and the poacher had both reacted, pulling back, but the bear moved away from them again. The distraction had been enough, though, and he had delivered a stunning blow to Henricksen's head, then another, and another, until the man laid unconscious at this feet. It had been when he reached to the back of his jeans for his cuffs, and the adrenaline had subsided, that he had become aware the bear's growls had been joined by Charlie's yells, loud and unyielding.

Don shifted slightly in the vinyl chair beside his brother's bed and rubbed the back of his neck. He doesn't know how his father is going to handle knowing what Charlie had done, but he knows he lost ten years himself when he looked up from cuffing Henricksen and saw the grizzly, standing on it's hind legs, roaring and snapping it's jaws, towering at least two to three feet over Charlie, who was standing way too close to the creature, waving his jacket at the beast and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Charlie must have drawn the bear's attention away from him and Henricksen as they fought. Not only that, Charlie had moved away from Dean, keeping the bear's focus solely on himself.

He had stood, frozen in terror behind the dark tree line, not sure what to do. The bear was obviously angry, but even he could see it was frightened, as well. He knew how to handle perps who were upset and scared – Psych 101 at Quantico – but, he was out of his element here. He had no idea what the bear would do. All speculation went out the window when the bear dropped to all fours, lowered it's head and huffed air through it's nostrils. With another massive roar, it had charged directly towards Charlie.

The attack had spurred him into motion, as well, and he'd searched the ground, frantically, for his weapon. He found it, picked it up and turned around.

Charlie had fallen to the ground, rolled as tightly as he could into a fetal ball to protect his vital organs. His knees were under his chin and his head was tucked down onto his chest. Both arms were wrapped tightly around his head and the back of his neck.

The bear had raised one massive paw and swiped it across his brother's immobile form. He saw the blood well up on Charlie's forearms. When the grizzly raised his paw again, he had raised the gun above his head and fired, once, twice, three times. He advanced towards the creature, yelling and firing his weapon into the air. Dean added his voice to the mayhem and the bear had taken a step back, still growling, but obviously confused and frightened. The beast had roared once more and raised a paw, swiping the air in front of him twice, then blessedly turned and lumbered into the woods.

There was no way, Don thought, as he looked at his sleeping brother, that he had planned to tell his father that Charlie had stood face to face – so to speak, being that Charlie was 5' 7" and the bear had to be at least 8 foot tall – and challenged the slobbering grizzly to a yelling/roaring match. If Alan found out on his own, however ... well, his stomach clenched at the thought and he prayed to whatever God there was that his father would be spared that nightmare.

As if he knew his brother was staring at him, Charlie stirred slightly. He snorted and his eyes shot open, flicking across the room momentarily until he remembered where he was. He saw Don, then, and spoke in a raspy, not-awake-yet voice. "Hey."

"You alright?"

The younger man grumbled and shifted his body slightly, stretching as much as he could in his flat-on-his-back position. "'m tired of lying on my ass," he complained.

Don chuckled. "Yeah, well, that's not going to change anytime soon."

Charlie glared at his older brother but asked, "Where's Dad?"

"I don't know," Don admitted in a tired voice. "I think he went down to the cafeteria."

Charlie tried to alter his position again, gave up with an exasperated sigh, then looked at his brother. "What are you doing?"

Despite the shot of sympathy he felt for Charlie's discomfort, Don couldn't help himself. "Just sitting here," he grinned, "got tired of lying on my ass."

"Oh, ha ha," Charlie sneered.

"Actually," Don offered, complaisant now, "I went down to see Dean."

Charlie's interest peaked. "Yeah? How's he doing?"

He just couldn't stop himself. "Tired of lying on his ..."

"Yeah, alright, I got it." Charlie chuckled despite the ribbing and scratched at the material around his neck. "Was his wife there?"

"No," Don breathed out, sighing heavily, as though he had been caught doing something wrong and there wasn't anything he could do about it. "She went down to the cafeteria."

"Oh," then "_Oohh."_ Unbidden, Charlie's quick mind calculated the possibilities Dean's wife and their father would meet and share information. The results were not in his brother's favor and he asked quietly, "Are you alright?" When Don didn't answer, Charlie pressed again, "You think Dad and ... uh, Ruby, is it ... might have met?" Don's only reply was a dismal quirk of his lips and a off-handed shrug. Charlie changed tactics, knowing his brother wouldn't be able to resist a head-on accusation. "You didn't tell him everything that happened, did you?"

Don's reaction was immediate and defensive. "Come on, Charlie, what good can come from him knowing you weren't in the chopper when it crashed? How can it possible help anything if he knows the blades from the chopper missed your head by mere inches, or that I left you there with a forest fire close by, or that you helped carry Dean, even though it probably added to your own injuries? Do you really want me to tell him that you argued with a very pissed off 800 pound bear?"

Charlie's reply was just as quick, but completely unexpected. "Bear, schmare. A person is 12 times more likely to die of a bee sting than a bear attack. You are 10 times more likely to die from a dog attack than one from a bear, and 1 person out of 16,000 commits murder, but only 1 grizzly bear out of 50,000 ever kills someone. Admittedly, there were several significant factors with this particular bear. It had been wounded, which added considerably to it's anxiety level, as well as the danger. He also clearly saw both the fire and Henricksen as a threat; but, most notably was the fact that we surprised it. Seventy three percent of all grizzly bear attacks are simply because the bear was surprised. Given these variables the bear only had two choices; one, attack and eliminate the perceived threat, or two, escape. Empirical evidence states quite clearly that grizzlies do not _try_ to kill humans – they just want to remove the threat. Show a bear a way out and he'll take it. Given the bear's size and strength the odds were in his favor, so, I thought it was prudent to give him a way out; I was just trying to scare him away."

Don's mouth gaped open. Only Charlie would see the statistics, and analyze what was quite possibly the scariest moment of his life. "That's it? That's how you remember it, cause I gotta tell you, buddy, I was terrified."

Charlie managed to look sheepish and puzzled at the same time."Yeah, well, there might have been some bad data in my equations. I don't know," he mumbled, "It should have worked. I should have been able to scare him away."

Don grinned at his brother's presumptuous and, in his opinion, completely naive remarks, but before he could tease him, Charlie blurted out, "Besides, you were there, too. Should we tell Dad you were so weak from blood loss you couldn't even resist me forcing you in the chopper? Should he know all the time you carried Dean you were bleeding and fevered, or that you fought with a desperate man who had nothing to lose and against all odds overpowered him? Then maybe we should tell him that you faced six desperate, well-armed men with only your service weapon and a back-up."

Don pressed his lips together stubbornly, and studied the green and white tiled floor.

"For a long time, you know, I ... I couldn't see it," Charlie said quietly. "I couldn't understand why you couldn't tell us how work went that day. Now, since I'm working with you, I understand. And I completely agree with you, there are things Dad just doesn't need to know. But, I don't think there's anything you can do this time to ... well, protect him. There are too many variables; Dean, his wife, even the ranger and sheriff, they all know what happened out there, and you know Dad can be pretty persuasive."

Don lowered his head again, this time studying his hands. His jaw muscles flexed and his lower lip disappeared inside his mouth. Charlie was right – he knew he was. There wasn't anything he could do this time to shield his father from the harsh truth.

"You don't have control," Charlie added, with more insight than Don had given him credit for, given the amount of pain killers he was on. "That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?"

Don raised his head and gave his brother a tight-lipped, weak grin. "Well, it is what it is, bro," he admitted.

Charlie chuckled softly.

Don studied his brother, a slow, incredulous smile forming on his lips. "Did you really say 'bear schmare?'" he asked.

Charlie made a face somewhere between a defiant, 'yeah, I did' and an abashed 'I can't believe I said it, either.'

Laughing, Don relaxed into the chair. Realizing there was nothing he could do to stop his father from finding out the truth had eased the burden of guilt he had been carrying. Some might consider what he does as lying – he hoped his father didn't. He hadn't lied to Alan since he was 15 and went to that stupid party. Those four hours in his room, waiting for Alan to come home and dish out his punishment, was worse than anything his father could do (although the month's grounding was nearly intolerable). Anticipation is its' own nightmare.

Don wasn't surprised when he looked up again to see Charlie asleep once more. His brother never did have a high tolerance for pain medication of any kind. It wasn't the deep sleep it had been before, though. Don could see the signs that told him his brother was merely resting. What did surprise him was when, several minutes later, his own head jerked to an upright position and he realized he had fallen asleep himself.

He hadn't expected Alan to be gone this long. He knew he wouldn't have gone to the motel without leaving word, so he was still in the hospital. Maybe, he thought, I should just go back to bed myself and face the music later. After all, he was kind of helpless here; not like he could feign being needed at the office or a crime scene and walk out the door. _Dad can ream me out later._

He found, to his dismay, that he couldn't get up on his own. Too many parts of his body had locked up while he had been sitting, and, coupled with the dizzying effects of the increasing fever, he knew he'd fall flat on his face if he tried using the crutches on his own.

Resigned, he settled back in the chair once more, pressing his hand against the deep furrow the bullet had taken out of his side. He had specifically asked Dr. Colt not to mention he had been shot to his father. It would be in the reports of course, but, Alan, not a member of law enforcement, would not have been privy to them. Once again, it would be easy enough to let Alan think his injury was from the helicopter crash. At least, Don thought, if Dr. Colt upheld his patient's confidentiality, his father would be spared knowing the details of the shoot out with the poachers. He knew David and Colby would never say anything.

He checked on Charlie again, and was alarmed to discover Charlie's image shimmered and wavered in front of him – like a heat mirage in the desert. He blinked and tried to concentrate, but found he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. It was the fever, he knew, but he was loath to give in to it. He wanted to be awake when his father came in. Alan would almost certainly be irate and demand an explanation as to why Don hadn't given him all the details of their experience and he wanted to at least be able to defend himself. It would be different this time, he thought; he was an adult, not a scared fifteen-year-old boy, traumatized by isolation and intimidation. The room swam before him in alarming patterns and suddenly his head was too heavy to hold upright. He leaned back, resting his head against the high back of the vinyl chair and closed his eyes. He fought for control as long as he could, but the soft sound of Charlie's even breaths hypnotized him, and he settled in, resigned and unresisting, and waited for Dad to come home.

**tbc**

**List of Supernatural names/reference;**

**Jessica Lee Moore - Sam's fiancée – season 1**


	6. Chapter 6

**Full Disclosure**

_**-Chapter Six-**_

Alan brushed a shaky hand through his graying hair and wondered, not for the first time, how much more truth he could handle. "Charlie did _WHAT_?"

"The only thing he _could_ do if he was any kinda man," Sheriff Gordan grumbled.

Despite Alan's fragile emotional state, he was immediately affronted by the man's implication that his son was anything less than a man. "You don't know anything about my son," he snapped.

Instead of being offended, Gordon laughed out loud. "I know one thing, fer sure. No math teacher I ever had could've stood up to a grizzly like that."

Alan rubbed the back of his neck where a persistent ache was developing. He had been dumbfounded by this latest revelation. He felt as though he was sinking into one of Larry Fleinhardt's black holes; sliding in a little further with each new disclosure of his sons' ordeal. "Why would he do that?"

With a touch of honest sympathy in his voice, Sam tried to explain. "Henricksen admitted he shot the bear and that the bear had chased him through the woods. It's simple - the bear had his scent and your son was fighting with him."

Alan was trying to understand, he really was, but it was as if his mind was frantically searching for something else to focus on, something other than one son fighting to the death with a ruthless mercenary while the other son held off a ferocious grizzly bear. Befuddled, he finally settled on ... "Grizzly?" His voice held a slight tremor. "I didn't think there was any grizzlies left in California. There was a show ... I saw a show ... said the last one in this state was killed nearly a century ago – that they are mostly in Wyoming and Idaho and up around Vancouver, British Columbia."

"Tell that to Azazel," Sam smiled.

"Azazel?"

"One of our past rangers liked naming some of our more notorious animals. He had a fondness for Biblical names."

Ruby, still enjoying her shake, added, "There was a cougar a few years back named Lucifer, and," she turned to Sam, "remember that rascal of a bobcat he named Balthazar? Liked to ransack through camper's belongings."

"Azazel shows up in the high country ever' now and then." The sheriff said, swallowing a large mouthful of food, "Damnest thing you ever saw. He has yella eyes. That don't happen in bears – must be some kind of mutant. That's where he got his name. They figured he resembled that yella-eyed demon mentioned in the Bible."

Alan closed his eyes and swallowed back his rising panic. Bear traps, helicopter crashes, forest fires, mercenaries, and now, mutant grizzlies and Biblical demons! – it was becoming too much.

Sam's voice, sounding calm and rational, broke through Alan's turbulent and irrational thoughts.

"Now, Zachariah," he was saying to Sheriff Gordan, "Mr. Eppes doesn't need to hear your crazy stories about demons and such. He just wants to know about his boys."

Gordan's eyes flashed with something primal and he leaned forward into Alan's face again. "You want facts? Let me give you facts. Male grizzlies, Azazel's age, can weigh between 800 and 1,000 pounds. The worst thing you can do when you see one is run. They can run up to 30 miles an hour and anythin' that runs away from them, looks like food. If they don't rip you to pieces with their teeth, they'll shred you with their claws – 4 to 5 inches long. They can take down an elk in less than 30 seconds, a moose calf in 35. They are the ultimate predator – even full grown black bears will tree themselves at the sight of them." He paused briefly, his eyes flashing with a near-manic glaze. "I had an encounter with Azazle myself, nearly six years ago. Up near the falls. I was fishing' there in Lake Madison. Never saw him comin'. He was on me "bam", like one of them hellhounds. Drove me clean into the ground like a linebacker drivin' a runnin'-back down. There was no time to react – I was at his mercy. If he wanted me dead, I wouldn't be tellin' the story today."

The sheriff's story didn't help Alan's emotions one bit. "What happened?," he managed to ask.

"Don't rightly know. Maybe he caught the scent of a black bear or a deer or maybe he just didn't feel like killin' me that day. Hell, maybe he was just scarin' me - just lettin' me know he could have killed me if he wanted to. He stood over me, droolin' and snortin', scared the bejesus out of me. He held me down, just starin' at me with them yella' eyes, for a full two minutes or so, then he huffed and walked away. That was the last time he was seen in these parts until a few days ago."

"Did he want ... Do you think he would have ...

"Killed your sons? There's no doubt in my mind, that's what he intended. See, you don't want to surprise a grizzly – especially one that already pissed. Azazel was wounded and runnin' from the fire, then he steps into that clearin' and it's crowed with people - kinda spooked him, you know?" Gordon scraped the last of the meat and gravy onto his spoon, using his finger to nudge the last piece, then just before putting it into his mouth he added, "yessireebob, that bear had killin' on his mind."

Ruby's shake was finished and she pushed the glass aside. "Dean told me he was terrified, but it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. The bear was roaring and shaking it's head. Henricksen panicked and ran – right into Don and they fought. He said the bear must have been confused or something because it stood there watching them fight for a minute, then he must have decided he still wanted Henricksen 'cause he ran over to them. That's when Charlie took his jacket off and stepped into the center of the clearing and started yelling."

Alan shuddered at the image, but his question as to why Charlie would have done it had been answered.

"He did it to save Don – to save his brother," Alan murmured.

Sam nodded. "Azazel would've gone right through Don to get to Henricksen. Probably been so riled up, he would have killed them both. Hell, Charlie's actions might just have saved every one of them."

Alan swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck again. "What happened then?"

"Well," Ruby started cautiously, but finished with an excited flourish, "Dean said the bear charged at Charlie, who was on the ground with his hands over his head playing dead by then, but Don fired his gun into the air several times and Azazel just ran off."

_Charlie is fine. Charlie is fine. Charlie is fine._ It became a mantra for Alan; a positive affirmation and reminder that his son was indeed alive and well. With that in mind, Alan consciously blocked out the image of a grizzly bear charging after his youngest and asked, in a voice that insisted on trembling, "That really works – playing dead?"

The sheriff replied, "On grizzlies, mostly - not so much on black bears. But, I've heard of some grizzlies that ... "

Sam quickly interrupted the sheriff. "Sometimes it works," he said, giving Gordon a stern, warning look. "Sometimes, it doesn't."

Gordon ignored Sam's admonishment and went on. "I've heard of some grizzlies that still attack, usin' their claws to rip their victims apart as they lay there, or ..."

Alan paled. "Oh, thank God, that didn't hap ..." His throat closed suddenly and he gasped, his hands coming up to both sides of his head. _The long narrow gashes on_ _Charlie's arms . . . arms that were covering his head as he played dead! _

Charlie had been mauled by the grizzly!

Alan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with his head in both hands. His throat remained closed and for a few immeasurable seconds he couldn't breath - then he thought of his sons, just a few hours ago, as Charlie was enduring yet another session of cervical traction. Once again, providing his compulsively hyper brother with a distraction, Don had painstakingly taken his brother through the intricate and complex details of a cold case he was thinking about reopening; the gruesome death of a stock broker suspected of fraud. Charlie, supine and immobile in the hospital bed, had eagerly told his brother he could utilize a technique called "tree pruning" to narrow down the suspect list, which included a large number of people the victim had swindled. They talked and planned, even after the traction was removed and had eventually formed a game plan to initiate when they returned to work.

They're both upstairs, he told himself, safe and breathing and recovering and doing what they do best.

He felt Sam and Ruby reach out to him; Sam's, a gentle grip on his forearm and Ruby, her fingers still cold and clenching his hand again. It grounded him like an anchor and after a few deep breaths he looked at Sam. The ranger spoke a single word, "Alan ..." It was cautionary, sympathetic, a gentle warning that perhaps he had heard enough.

Alan's response was vehement and certain. "No. No, you don't understand. My sons LIVED this; they were there. The least I can do is listen. I asked for this – to know what they went through – to have full disclosure for a change; not just what Don wanted me to know."

Sam shook his head. "Well, the acorn didn't fall far from the tree in your family, did it? I can see where your sons got their grit. Alright, Alan," he agreed, "alright. What else do you want to know?"

The shootout, Alan thought to himself, and the rescue. Don didn't tell him much about either one.

"_We broke camp as soon as the sun came up. We were heading for Winchester Falls and the closer we got the steeper the terrain became. The smoke got a little heavier too and that's when we realized there was another fire coming up behind us – close enough to be of concern, you know? Dean took us around the back way to the falls – skirting the worst of the fire – and we ended up at someplace he called Shurley Bluff, overlooking Lake Madison. Great place for a rescue chopper to set down. Unfortunately, Henricksen's gang thought the same thing and they were there waiting for their own transport. They had been waiting for Henricksen – he had the pilot's number – and they had set-in there to wait for him. I have to admit, it got a little hairy there for a while, Dad, until David and Colby arrived with the cavalry. The fire was spreading way too fast and well, we were kind of outnumbered, you know?"_

"Don didn't tell me much about the actual rescue. He did tell me the fire was close. How close?"

Sam scratched his head, instantly regretting his decision to continue narrating this adventure. "Well," he drawled, loath to reveal too much as he looked instead at Ruby, "close enough that there were a few stray sparks flying around."

Immediately, her face became hard and her spine stiffened. "Dean didn't have his jacket with him when they brought him in." Her voice was steady and certain, and with a start, Alan recognized the same stoic detachment Don often employed. She didn't need the apologetic, affirmative nod Sam gave her, but the ranger confirmed her suspicions.

"Yeah, I saw Ed and Harry stuff it in the back of the ambulance."

Silently, she nodded her head once, then, surprisingly looked at her watch. "I have to get going. Momma's gonna be plum worn out." Sam stood up quickly and pulled her chair out for her. Alan wasn't that far gone in misery and contemplation that he forgot his manners. He stood, as well, and he and the ranger both offered her a hand up. "Thanks," she said, "Alan, I'll try to stop in tomorrow and see Don and Charlie." She sent Alan a grim, humorless smile. "Right after Dean and I have a talk."

"I'm headin' back to the office," Sheriff Gordon announced, wiping most of the gravy from his face. "I'll walk out with ya, Ruby." They headed towards the elevators, leaving Alan and Ranger Castiel standing and looking at each other across the table.

Sam motioned at the cup sitting forgotten at Alan's place. "You want to finish that?"

The coffee was cold now and completely unappetizing. Alan shook his head. "I ... I'll just come back later. Get another cup ... you know ... later." He spoke softly, brokenly, almost as if coherent thought was no longer a possibility.

Sam nodded, uneasy and asked, "You going to be alright?"

Numbly, Alan nodded his head. The two men walked to the elevators and Sam reached forward and pushed the single button that would take them up one level to the main hospital floor. The light above the double doors blinked a few times while the pulleys lowered the car into position, then, with a soft ding, the doors opened. The sound, innocuous and benign, reminded Alan of his and Ruby's quest for the truth.

"I don't know why Don felt he had to lie to me. I mean ... "

"I don't think your son really lied to you, Alan." Sam's smile was irritatingly serene, his voice annoyingly placid. The two men entered the elevator and Alan turned to the tall, composed man. As the doors closed he allowed his anger free reign.

"Maybe not," he said between clenched teeth, "but he sure as hell didn't tell me the truth, either. He deliberately let me think Charlie was in the helicopter when it crashed. He didn't tell me how hard it was on them moving to the other site. I found out how close the fire was to them from you and I still don't know about the shootout with the poachers!" The level of his voice had risen with each perceived deception. As the elevator slowed to a stop, Alan turned to the ranger, his finger pointing up for emphasis and added, "And he NEVER mentioned the bear. Not once! He told me they camped, Henricksen walked into the campsite, they struggled and he cuffed him. That's it! Not. One. Single. Word. about Charlie facing a mutant grizzly bear!"

They stepped outside the elevator and stood facing each other in the green and white hallway.

Sam placed a hand on Alan's shoulder, a gesture meant to calm and reassure at the same time. "I remember my grandma told me once that honesty and kindness were both signs of a good character – but when the two of them collide or fight against each other, kindness should always win."

Alan nodded his head several times, obviously agreeing with the sentiment. "I understand what you are saying – that Don is just being kind when omits certain graphic details, but ... "

"For my money," Sam said, "I'd take it easy on Don. Seems to me that you've raised yourself a fine young man there if he's looking after your peace of mind."

Before Alan could respond, the ranger's phone vibrated and he reached for it. After several seconds of listening, he said, "Alright Jake, I'll be right there." Returning his phone to the holder on his hip, he turned to Alan once more, his kind eyes studying the man. "Do you feel any better now, knowing how it was for them?"

Alan shook his head slowly and replied, "I'm not certain that I do."

"Well, you've had a lot thrown at you in a short time. Give it some thought. I'm sure you'll work it out." The ranger put his hand forward. "I have to go. Good luck."

Alan returned the hand shake. "Thank you ... for your candor and understanding. I appreciate ... well, everything."

The ranger nodded briskly in reply, then walked away, leaving Alan standing by himself. He felt drained, both physically and mentally, and he looked about for a quiet place to sit where he could sort out his emotions. He glanced at a small waiting area directly in front of him and started towards it, but stopped when he saw David and Colby standing at the end of the hallway talking with Dr. Colt.

Numb and exhausted, Alan honestly didn't know if he could handle any more disturbing details, but, he felt there was more to the final rescue and shootout than he had been told. Don's team members, however, were normally as tight-lipped as his son and Alan knew he would not get any satisfaction from them if he just asked for it. He'd have to be ... creative.

As Alan drew closer, he saw that David was speaking to Dr. Colt and the physician was nodding his head. Alan was still several feet away when the doctor began talking and as Alan got closer he heard the doctor's words. "... and that would be consistent with Agent Eppes' gunshot wound."

They hadn't seen him yet, and Alan stopped, his heart beating so rapidly he couldn't breath. Gunshot wound! Don had been shot! How could he have spent the last two days with his son and not known he had been shot? Dr. Colt's mouth was moving again and Alan strained, trying to hear through his heart pounding. "... definitely a high grained, large caliber bullet; the kind, I suppose, that would be used in bear hunting. He was very lucky that it was just a deep graze. It could have been a lot worse."

_The injury to his side!_

The intercom, embedded in the ceiling tiles just about their heads, suddenly blared with a request for Dr. Colt to come to the ER. Without a word, he nodded to the two men and hurried down the hall.

Alan took a shaky breath and held it, then let it out with a short cough, drawing David and Colby's attention to him. They turned to him in unison.

"Alan," David greeted him warmly with a brief touch to his shoulder, despite his quick, uncomfortable look at the departing doctor. "I'm glad to see you. Colby and I are heading back to L.A.. We stopped in to see Don and Charlie but they're both asleep."

"We thought we'd see you there." Colby added.

"I, uh, went down to the cafeteria," he said, trying to sound casual. "They have some great coffee. You two should get some before you drive all that way back."

Both agents nodded but continued to look a little uncomfortable, then finally David motioned to the hallway where Dr. Colt had just disappeared. "We were just talking to the doctor – finishing up a few notes on our report before we left." He showed Alan the notebook in his hand, as if he needed to confirm his statement.

It was an opening and Alan took advantage of it. "I was actually just talking to Ranger Castiel and Sheriff Gordon. The sheriff was telling me the people around here are going to be talking about that shootout for a long time. That must have been something."

David and Colby both hedged, nodding tentatively.

He tried again. "Don told me they were outnumbered."

They exchanged surprised looks. "Don told you that?" Colby asked, his forehead lined with wrinkles.

"Yes. He said he was sure glad to see you two arrive with the cavalry."

"I bet he was," Colby smirked, "I've seen Don in a lot of scrapes, but this was a doozy."

David nudged his partner, his expression still unsure and hesitant.

Alan tried once more. "He said the fire was moving pretty fast. And I understand it was close enough that sparks caught Dean's jacket on fire."

It worked. The agents shrugged at one another. If Don told his father that much, it must be okay. "We talked to the fire chief, uh ..." David consulted his notebook, "Damien Barnes, and he told us that second fire was harder to control, denser part of the woods, quicker to spread, you know?"

"The fire was coming up the ridge behind them pretty fast. There wasn't much cover on the ridge and what little there was had already been taken by the poachers who were already there. Don had Henricksen, but there were still six other gunmen, and between the fire and Don showing up they were kind of spooked and opened fire right away."

"_Kind of outnumbered."_?

"Don had his service weapon and his backup, with very little extra ammo. I guess he propped Dean up against a tree and gave him his back-up – to hold Henricksen. All Charlie could do was duck and cover, you know?"

"_It got a little hairy for a while there, Dad."_!

"Coming in by chopper, we saw Don get shot, just before we landed. We had seen movement on all sides that indicated the gunmen were getting into position to surround them on three sides - the fire coming in from the back. If they had been able to do that, it would have been all over. It was too close, man."

Alan was overwhelmed, his emotions finally stripped bare, still, no one was more surprised than he was himself when, without thought, he subconsciously rubbed his forehead and moaned his long-gone father's expression of woe, "Oy veh!"

David was quick to respond. "Are you alright, Mr. Eppes? Alan?"

He couldn't answer right away. Colby leaned into his line of vision, looking ashamed and concerned. "I'm sorry. I thought Don told you."

Alan managed to swallow and nod his head, he hoped in reassurance."He may have left out some of the key points." He said, his voice shaky.

Back to looking uncomfortable - with a large dose of remorse and guilt clouding their expressions, the two agents exchanged hasty glances, then David said, "Well, we still have a long drive. We'd better go."

Colby peered anxiously at his boss's father. "You sure you're alright?"

Alan nodded and waved them away. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Go on, now, get going before it gets too late."

They hurried away and Alan headed wearily for the men's room. He went straight to the sink on the far wall and turned the faucet on full force. Bending down, he cupped the water into his hands and splashed his face. The water was cold and a shock to his senses. He gasped and shivered and did it again. He took a few deep breaths, then raised his head and gazed at himself in the mirror above the sink. The last few days – or was it the last few hours – had taken it's toll. He was exhausted. His skin had a waxy, ashen look which only emphasized the deep, dark, not-enough-sleep circles under his eyes, giving him, in his opinion, a zombie-like appearance. "Well," he said wryly to his reflection, "I hope you're happy. You now know everything that happened to your sons. You have all the gory, disturbing, graphic, downright terrifying details." Details, he thought, that maybe had been better left unknown. He shook his head and reached for a paper towel. He dried his hands, then turned for the door, but stopped just short of it. Amazingly, he felt the beginnings of a laugh in his stomach. The circumstances of his full disclosure were far from being funny – and it was an ironic and incongruous chuckle that forced it's way out. "Of course," he snickered, "it only took Don's superficial and white-washed story, one hormonal wife, a conscientious doctor, a wise and helpful ranger, a cantankerous sheriff and two, well-meaning but clueless agents to get the whole story."

Alan took a deep breath, opened the door and walked down the green and white hallway towards his sons' room.

**tbc**

**List of Supernatural names/references:**

**Vancouver, British Columbia - location of show's production**

**Azazel - leader of the demon world**

**Lucifer - fallen angel/the Devil, season 5 and 6**

**Balthazar - angel, season 6**

**yellow-eyed demon - demon that killed Mary Winchester/Azazel**

**Madison - unfortunate werewolf victim, "Heart", 2-17 **

**hellhounds - brings the souls of the dead to Hell, guardian of the gates of Hell, prominently in "No Rest for the Wicked" 3-16 **

**Jake - one of Azazel's special children, season 2. He killed Sam, killing him, in "All Hell Breaks Loose", 2-21 and 2-22**

**Damien Barnes - Damien is fake Dean, Barnes is fake Sam in 5-9, "The Real Ghostbusters" during a supernatural convention**

**zombie - "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid" 5-15**


	7. Chapter 7

**I enjoyed writing this story and I sincerely hope you all enjoyed reading it. This is the end - and once again, thanks to those who let me know what they thought of the story.**

**Chapter Seven**

_**- Full Disclosure -**_

"Don. Wake up, son. Let's get you back into bed."

Don opened his eyes slowly, amazed that he could do so considering someone must have sealed them shut with glue. He felt hot, his mind fuzzy with fever, and he noticed with no small amount of alarm, he was having trouble getting up. Resigned to needing help, he let the hands on both sides of him pull him to his feet.

"That's it. Let us help you." He heard his father's voice on his left side, then Jessica's voice, both concerned and scolding came from the right.

"I tried to get him to go back to bed earlier."

"That's alright, dear. I'm sure he probably just wanted to sit with Charlie for awhile."

Something was wrong. Don tried to clear his thoughts as they eased him back into the hospital bed. His father's voice didn't sound right. It should be angry, tight; it was neither. His father sounded tired and despondent and ... old. For just an instant, as Jessica lifted his overly warm and now swollen leg onto the mattress, Don did something he had never done before. He wondered what would have happened if he had stayed in baseball; never gone into the FBI; never caused his parents so much worry. It was moot, he knew, but still . . .

Charlie's worried voice from across the room stalled Don's guilty thoughts. "Dad, is Don okay?"

"Your brother's fine." Alan replied, tersely, pulling the sheet up and over Don's legs to his chest. "He just overdid a little."

Charlie spoke again and Don nearly groaned in frustration. "He went down to see Dean by himself."

Don shook his head, wondering if little brothers ever stopped tattling on their older brothers. "I'm fine, Dad," Don tried to counter, but his words slurred and there was a slight tremor to his voice. "The doctor said I should get up and move around some."

Alan opened his mouth, ready to point out that the doctor had also mentioned using caution and someone with him the first few times – then, abruptly closed it again. "Well, I guess that's between you and your doctor. You should know your own limits."

Don was immediately wary, suspicious, uncertain. The father he grew up with would not have let him off that easily.

Jessica, who had disappeared as soon as he had been settled into bed, reappeared with another nurse. "Becky," she said, with some authority, "I'll give him something for his fever. Can you see after his ankle?"

Both father and son remained quiet as Jessica handed Don a glass of water and two pills, and Becky wrapped a cold compress around his ankle. Jessica then took his vitals while Becky pulled his hospital gown aside to check the bandages covering his gunshot wound. Don's eyes traveled up slowly and found Alan's and he felt his chest tighten. His father knew; there was no doubt. The haunted look on his father's face, the pain-filled eyes, the shadow of despair that seemed to hover around him, all told him his father had been spared nothing; not the crash, or the bear or the shootout; he knew it all. Don turned his head away, closed his eyes and let the darkness close in around him.

A solid, drug-assisted eight hours of sleep did wonders and when Don opened his eyes the next time, he felt refreshed and alert. He scanned the room quickly; first to the clock on the wall, seeing that it was 7:18am, then to his father, reading in the green vinyl chair next to ... Charlie's bed was gone! Don sat quickly and Alan looked up. "They just took him down to X-ray," he explained. "He's fine. He was babbling to the technicians about how something called inverse-square law applies to X-ray. It was early – I don't think they were interested."

Don relaxed and Alan closed his book. "It's okay, really." he said. "Gives us a chance to talk." Alan sighed, then, as he watched his forty year old son close up and the sullen fifteen-year-old re-emerge.

"Don't go all James Dean on me. Remember who you are talking to, my boy. I perfected that rebellious look long before you were a gleam in your mother's eyes."

Don's eyes softened a bit, but his lips remained thin and tight.

"I spent some time talking with Ruby Hunter, Ranger Castiel and Sheriff Gordon. They had some very interesting things to say about . . ."

"I'm not sorry, Dad," Don interrupted, his jaw suddenly set, his dark eyes narrowed.

Alan wasn't fazed by his son's menacing attitude."I didn't expect you would be, son. Your mother and I raised you to do what you felt was right. And if you felt it was right to withhold the, well, let's say, more interesting aspects of your's and your brother's ordeal from me, well, then, that's up to you."

Don studied his father, warily. There was a lecture in there somewhere, he was sure of it.

Alan stood up and laid his book on the seat. He took a few steps towards Don's bed and stood before it, his hands wringing nervously in front of him.

"We – your mother and I – we weren't always fair to you, Don, and ... "

"Aw, Dad, don't ... "

"No. No. Now I need to say some things and you need to listen."

Don hunched his shoulders again and dropped his eyes to the floor but remained silent.

"It comes back to doing what you think is right. And at the time we felt it was right to give Charlie whatever he needed to utilize this ... this gift he had been given. You ... well, you began taking care of yourself – and that was a good thing. You became strong and independent and focused. It's served you well in this life you've chosen."

Here it comes, Don thought, rolling his eyes.

Alan recognized the long-suffering expression on his son's face and sighed again. "You know, Don, it would be nice if when two people were married, they were handed an all purpose guide to parenthood. It doesn't happen. Your mother and I were completely unprepared to be parents. What did we know about raising children? We knew protests and love beads and shaking up the establishment – not baby formula and little league and sibling rivalry. We floundered our way through as everyone else did. And we made mistakes, like most parents do."

"When you joined the FBI, we worried – sue us. We worried when we didn't hear from you for long periods of time – especially when you were working with that Agent Cooper. Most of the gray hair on my head sprouted out those nights your mother and I couldn't sleep and we'd sit up playing gin rummy, hoping the phone would ring and it would be you. I guess I did most of the worrying, because her hair never turned gray, huh?" Alan smiled, hoping the little dash of humor would help, but Don was staring at the floor, grim-faced, and he didn't look up.

"We got use to it," Alan continued. "But then I ... we lost her and the thought of losing one of you became a nightmare I was not ready to face. You, obviously, were the most likely candidate and I might have inadvertently made it hard on you."

Don raised his head, then. His eyes were clouded with regret and puzzlement. "Dad?"

Alan took a deep breath and confessed, "I might have been a little unreasonable in the past about your questionable methods of disclosing what you deem pertinent information when you or your brother are in danger."

Don looked more confused than ever, but Alan was on a roll and he added quickly, "I can see why you might not want me to know that you and Charlie carried Dean - as injured as you both were - exacerbating your already substantial injuries. And I can certainly see why you think the helicopter falling on Charlie might give me a few hundred sleepless nights."

Realizing where this conversation was going and that the long awaited lecture had arrived, Don reached for the only scrap of favorable defense he could think of. "It didn't exactly fall _on_ him, Dad."

Alan's eyebrows drew together and he gave his son his best parental I'm-not-as-dumb-as-you-think-I-am look. "Forgive me if we see it differently, but it was in the sky – he wasn't – it fell ..."

"It was just a small one, Dad." The words slipped out before he was aware of it and Alan's silent glare told him how lame it had sounded. Suppressing a nervous chuckle, Don mumbled "Whatever."

"And we won't even talk about the shootout and fire," Alan announced - then, as if he had second thoughts, he sent his son a dark, derisive look. _"kind of _outnumbered?," he repeated with a disbelieving sneer. Don shrugged weakly and Alan went on. "But, the bear, Don. Charlie challenging a crazed, frightened, wounded, dangerous, yellow-eyed, demonic, mutant, grizzly bear – well, son – thank you for thinking I didn't want to know that."

Don wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, so he didn't say anything.

Alan took a few steps away from the bed, then stopped and turned back towards his son. "I know what you're doing – the same thing your mother and I did for you and your brother. When there was trouble – money problems, the occasional disagreement, Grandpa Mann's heart attack – we didn't say anything to you two. We didn't want to worry you."

"It's not like that, Dad."

"Oh, certainly the circumstances are different, but the concept's the same." Alan came back to Don's bed, his hands now holding onto the side rails. "You know when I said there was no guidebook on parenthood? We didn't need it. In the end it came down to three things; love them, teach them, and protect them. You turned the tables on me, kiddo. You're trying to protect me because you love me and I've learned something from that."

"Yeah?" Don's voice was hesitant, hopeful.

"Yeah," Alan repeated. "So, I propose a deal. When it comes to your job, I'll try to look at you as a capable, responsible man - instead of my son."

"Dad!" Don protested, though he wasn't sure why.

"What I mean is, I'll trust your judgment on what you want me to know."

Don nodded cautiously, as if agreeing to the pact, but he knew, instinctively, there was more.

"There's one stipulation" Alan added, and Don nearly rolled his eyes again. "You need to trust me, too. When either of you are hurt, injured, or just simply have a boo-boo, I want to know. I don't need details, I just want to help. Don't take that from me, son. Trust me to be strong enough to be there for you and Charlie."

It was not only fair, Don knew, it was probably the best deal he was going to get today. It would not be easy and there was no way he was going to promise his father something he wasn't sure he could do. "I'll try, Dad," he said simply.

Alan nodded his head once, accepting the terms, then sent his son a stern, steely-eyed look. "It's either that," he added grimly, despite the upturned lips, "or I could just ground you for a month."

Don laughed, a full-throated one, and his eyes sparkled. "That's more like it. You had me worried there, Dad. For a moment I thought it was Invasion of The Body Snatchers or that shape shifting thing."

"Nothing that mysterious or supernatural, my boy," Alan smiled affectionately. "Just an old man finally learning to trust his son's instincts."

**Six months later . . .**

Slowly, Don reached across his chest with his left hand, brushing against his newly acquired sling, and removed his wallet from his right pants pocket. His movements were clumsy and shaky, a direct result of the pain killers they had given him in the ER. With more difficulty than he anticipated he extracted the money from his wallet one-handed and gave it to the taxi driver.

He stepped up onto the porch of his brother's house and after another series of ungainly and uncomfortable movements he manged to retrieve his keys and unlock the front door.

He had noticed that there were no cars in the driveway, so he didn't expect his dad or Charlie to be home, but as he stepped into the entry, he called out, anyway, "'lo, Dad, Charlie. Anyone home?"

The house remained quiet and after a quick, habitual look through the green fluted bowl/mail receptacle sitting on the table, he headed for the couch. It took a moment to find a position that didn't irritate his dislocated shoulder - well, technically his recently relocated shoulder -but he was soon resting and breathing evenly.

He was startled out of his sleep by the sound of his father's angry voice. "What do you mean he was hurt? Why didn't someone call us?"

As Don struggled to sit up, Alan Eppes came into the house, followed closely by Charlie, David and Colby.

"We were still at the scene and he wasn't hurt that bad." David was trying for the 'in command' voice, but even to Don's sluggish brain it sounded like a poorly camouflaged apology.

Colby just shrugged and added, "We figured he'd call one of you for a ride home."

Alan grumbled and walked quickly towards the couch. Don was sitting up straight, his legs swung over the edge, the fuzziness fading quickly as his father approached. Alan sat down beside him. "Donnie, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Dad. David's right. It's not that bad. Just dislocated my shoulder again. Doctor popped it back in - a week or two sitting at a desk with my arm in a sling - no problem."

Alan sighed. He scrubbed his hand across his face and took a few calming breaths. "I thought ... I thought after that horrible experience in Black Rock we had reached ... an agreement. That you would let us know when you were injured – and let us help. Why didn't you call me?" There was anger in his voice; anger and sadness. "You disappoint me, Don."

Don's expression remained unflinching despite his father's wounding remarks. His voice was steady as he said, "I did try to call you Dad – twice. It went to voice mail both times."

For just an instant, Alan maintained his gruff, accusing, disbelieving position, then his face suddenly lost all color and his hand flew to his mouth. "I ... I ... was playing golf ... I, with Stan. They have a policy about phones on the golf course, you know."

Charlie nodded his head, looking like a wide-eyed, curly-headed bobble doll. "That's true. They do," he confirmed for everyone in the room, then turned to his brother. "What about me, though? I could have picked you up. I was at CalSci all day and I had my phone with me the entire time." Charlie's voice, while concerned and earnest, was also slightly smug and pretentious.

"Yeah, well check your messages there, genius. I actually tried you three times."

Frowning, Charlie pulled his phone from his jacket. His skin tone mirrored his father's ashen pallor when he looked at it. "I'm sorry." He rubbed his forehead with two fingers and held the phone out, as if they could see what was wrong. "The battery ... it died on the way ... this morning. I meant to ... but, I forgot." His manner now contrite and full of remorse, he murmured, "Sorry, I'm sorry. I ..."

"Hey," Don waved his hand dismissively, "it's alright. Don't worry about it."

"But you had to take a taxi here from the hospital."

Don shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "Didn't have much choice. The team was still in the field, and Robin's in Seattle. I even tried Larry and Amita, but ..."

"Larry's in San Diego ... and 'mita is ..." Charlie brushed his hands through his hair. " God, Don, I'm sorry."

"Charlie, it's no big deal."

Alan suddenly spoke, his voice steady and clear. "No, you're wrong, Don - it _is_ a big deal. You _tried_ to call us. You came here instead of hiding at home until the bruises healed like you have in the past."

Don met his father's gaze evenly. "I told you I'd try."

"And you did." Alan's voice had a touch of finality to it, as though the issue was closed. He stood up, passing his gaze over the four men. "Now, we're all here," he announced. "Who's hungry?"

"I could eat," Colby said, quickly.

"Yeah, it's been a long week today. I'm starved." David shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair.

Alan smiled broadly, clapped his hands in front of him once, then rubbed them together. "Okay, how about some brats and burgers on the grill? Charlie, get David and Colby a beer."

Alan and Charlie headed for the kitchen while David and Colby eased themselves into the two chair opposite their boss.

Don called out as Charlie slipped through the swinging doors ahead of his father. "Hey, Chuck, grab a beer for ... "

Alan stopped, his hand on the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen. "Did they give you something at the hospital for the pain?"

Don gave it his best shot. "Yeah, but that was over three hours ..."

"I'll send Charlie in with a nice bottle of cold water." Alan quipped as he let the door swing shut behind him.

Don sighed heavily and fell back against the sofa cushions. Ignoring his two team members, who were trying hard to hide their amusement, he pursed his lips in frustration. "So much for being completely honest," he muttered.

**The end**

**List of Supernatural names/references;**

**Becky (Rosen) - obsessed fanfiction writer, season 5**

**Invasion of the Body Snatchers - off-handed reference to "Swap Meat" 5-12**

**shape shifter - a being with shape-shifting abilities, "Skin", 1-6, "Nightshifter", 2-12, "Monster Movie", 4-5**

**supernatural - of or relating to phenomena beyond or outside of nature, AND, A Great TV Show!**


End file.
